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BENEDICITE; 



ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POWER, WISDOM, AND 

GOODNESS OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN 

HIS WORKS. 



By G.^CHAPLIN CHILD, M. D. 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 




c NEW YORK: 
G. P. PUTNAM AND SON, 66 1 Broadway. 

1867. 



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A 



i^isi 



[Reprinted from the London edition of J^^n Murra^ issued 
December, 1866.] 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 



KZP 



" Every advance in our knowledge of the natural world 
will?» if rightly directed by the spirit of true humility, and 
with a prayer for^ God's blessing, advance us in our knowl- 
edge of Himself, and will prepare us to receive His revela- 
tions of His Will with profounder reverence." — Sir Robert 
H. Inglis, British Association, 1847. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 



BY HENRY G. WESTON, D. D. 




HE work here offered to the American public, 
it is confidently believed, will be found worthy 
of a wide circulation. The. author is an intel- 
ligent physician, at home in the various departments of 
natural science, who has in the treatment of his theme 
most happily avoided on the one hand the habit of many 
scientists of depreciating Revelation, and on the other the 
forced and strained arguments employed by some true 
but injudicious friends of Religion. Written in an easy 
and flowing style, abounding in illustrations and incidents, 
unincumbered by abstruse and scientific terms, the book 
cannot fail to interest as well as instruct. Science and 
Religion, Knowledge and Piety, walk together in these 
pages in unalloyed friendship ; while the charm thrown 
around the train of thought continues unbroken to the 
close. 

An occasional allusion to England and to the Estab- 
lished Church of that country will be noticed by the 
careful reader. This edition being an exact and literal 
reprint, these allusions are of course left untouched ; 
they are but few in number, do not at all affect the ar- 
gument, and are never offensively obtruded. A warm 



2 Introductory Note, 

heart as well as a clear head is demanded for the pro- 
duction of a work like this, and such a heart must have 
a country and a church to love. Americans can under- 
stand and appreciate the feelings which find such almost 
involuntary utterance, and can respect in others what they 
cherish in themselves, — that patriotism which does not 
depreciate other lands while it regards with fondest affec- 
tion its own God-given home. 

New York, March, 1867. 




CONTENTS. 



PA6E 

Introduction. Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar and the Burning 

Fiery Furnace. The Song of the Three Children . 7 

The Heavens 20 

The Sun and the Moon. The Planets . . ^ . .27 

The Stars of Heaven 51 

Winter and Summer 72 

Nights and Days ,85 

Light and Darkness , . . , , , , .88 

Waters above the Firmament , 100 

Lightning and Clouds ..,.,,., 106 

Showers and Dew , . iii 

Wells . . , , , 122 

Seas and Floods 134 

The Winds of God 158 

Fire and Heat 171 

Frost and Cold. — Ice and Snow , . . . .182 

Powers of the Lord 198 

Mountains and Hills 220 

The Earth 230 

Green Things upon the Earth 251 

Beasts and Cattle 286 

Fowls of the Air ......... 300 

Whales, and All that move in the Waters . . 338 
Concluding Reflections . . . . ... . 362 




GOD MAGNIFIED IN HIS WORKS. 




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6^6>Z) MAGNIFIED IN HIS WORKS. 



Babylon — the glory of kingdoms^ the beauty of the Chaldees' ex- 
cellency! — Isaiah xiii. 19. 
Her cities are a desolation^ a dry land, and a ^wilderness, a land 
ixiherein no man divelleth. — Jeremiah li. 43. 



!N an outlying province of the Turkish empire, 
where sultan and firman are often superseded by 




! the lawless will of sheik or pacha, two famous 
rivers — the Tigris and Euphrates — gradually converge, 
and, after mingling their waters together, glide gently on- 
ward to the Persian Gulf In the fork thus formed be- 
tween them stretches a vast plain, made known to us in 
early Scripture History as Shinar, Chaldaea, and Babylon, 
as well as by other less familiar names, but to which the 
term Mesopotamia has been more usually applied, as it 
aptly designates a district " lying between rivers." The 
general aspect of this plain is one of desolation. Fertile 
strips here and there border the Euphrates' banks, and 
willows are still seen flourishing where the sorrowing 
Israelites once hung up their harps ; but away from those 
green fringes the eye wanders over wild, dreary wastes 
from which the last traces of cultivation are slowly dying 
out. Vast tracts lie soaked in permanent swamps, while 
much of the remaining Jand is, at one period of the year, 
flooded by the unheeded inundations of the neighboring 
rivers, and, at another, baked into an arid desert by the 
burning rays of the sun. It need scarcely be said that 
population has almost disappeared from those melancholy 
plains ; for the wandering Arab is little tempted to pitch 



8 God magnified in his Works, 

his tent or to pasture his flocks on so sterile a soil. The 
doom that was so clearly foretold by the jDrophets has 
fallen upon it, and Babylon now " lies desolate in the sight 
of all that pass by." It has become the "habitation of. 
the beasts of the desert." As the traveler plods onward 
over its unfrequented tracts, the startled wild-fowl rises 
with quick splash from the reedy pool, or a few scared 
gazelles may perhaps be descried bounding over the dis- 
tant plain. The " owl " and the "bittern," the jackal and 
the hyena add their testimony to the exactness with which 
the words of Scripture have been fulfilled. More rarely 
a solitary lion may be seen skulking among the strange, 
mysterious mounds and " heaps " of stones that loom here 
and there above the plain. 

Mournful and dreary though this land now be, it is and 
ever will remain one of the most interesting spots on earth. 
It was not always "desolate." No other place, perhaps, 
claims with a better title to be regarded as the scene 
where our first parents walked together in paradise. 
Such, at least, has been the common tradition ; and in a 
well-known edition of the Bible, published in 1599, may be 
found a map of the Garden of Eden, of which the site of 
Babylon forms the centre. But, be that as it may, there 
can be no doubt of its former greatness and fertility, for 
the record is plainly written all over the soil. Everywhere 
it is furrowed by ruined canals, of which some tell us of 
departed commerce and wealth, others of skillful irrigation 
and abundant crops. Heaps of rubbish are to be met 
with in which lie hidden fragments of pottery which bear 
witness to the former presence of a highly cultivated peo- 
ple ; and uncouth mounds rise strangely above the plain, 
in which the last relics of palaces and cities are buried to- 
gether. For centuries History appeared to have lost her 
hold upon those great places of the past, and it is only 
within the last few years that some of them have been 
rescued from the oblivion that was slowly creeping over 



God magnified in his Works, 9 

them. Questioned by the light of modern knowledge 
those mysterious stones of the plains open up to us the 
first page in the history of nations — transport us back 
almost to the dawn where antiquity begins, and bring 
within our sight those to whom the deluge was a recent 
event. They impart a substance to scenes we have often 
tried in vain to realize. In imagination we see Nimrod 
the Mighty Hunter, busy with the foundations of the city 
of Babel on the neighboring Euphrates' bank, and piling 
up the "tower that was to reach to heaven." Then it 
was that the patriarchal dignity of early Bible records 
expanded into royalty, and Babylon became the starting 
point in the long pedigree of kingdoms. 

Babylon touched the zenith of its grandeur two thou- 
sand four hundred and fifty years ago, when Nebuchad- 
nezzar sat upon the throne. He was the great warrior of 
that age. After overrunning Egypt he had returned to his 
capital laden with its spoil ; he had chastised his rebel- 
lious subjects and treacherous allies, and he had utterly 
crushed the power of the Kings of Judah. The wicked 
and faithless Jehoiakim, blind to the warnings he received, 
had brought a terrible doom upon his country ; for Nebu- 
chadnezzar, not content with plundering the treasures of 
the temple at Jerusalem, carried the king himself a pris- 
oner to Babylon. Among the captives on this occasion 
were included Daniel the Prophet and his three friends, — 
Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, who in the land of their 
exile received the Chaldean names of Shadrach, Meshach, 
and Abednego. 

Nebuchadnezzar was no less great in the arts of peace 
than in those of war. He, therefore, encouraged learned 
men to make his capital their resort, and he also promoted 
the national prosperity by favoring agriculture and com- 
merce. He dug canals in all directions to fertilize the 
land by irrigation. His merchants traded along the rich 
shores of the Mediterranean, and penetrated even to re- 



lo God magnified in his Works, 

mote China. He provided for the security of Babylon by 
building or strengthening its walls, and he made it beauti- 
ful by adorning it with palaces. Its "hanging-gardens" 
were acknowledged throughout ancient times to be one of 
the wonders of the world, and their fame has endured up 
to this very hour. 

At the court of such a monarch, Daniel's learning was 
sure to procure for him distinction, and he soon became a 
member of the college of Magi or wise men. His subse- 
quent success in interpreting Nebuchadnezzar's dream, 
after all others had failed, raised him to the first rank in 
the tyrant's favor, and we are told that " he sat in the 
gate of the king." Nor in his prosperity did he forget his 
three Jewish friends, — Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- 
nego, — who through his influence were promoted to be 
Governors in the province of Babylon. 

The history of Nebuchadnezzar and the burning, fiery 
furnace — so illustrative on the one hand of perfect trust 
in God, and, on the other, of God's power to deliver his 
servants from the assaults of their enemies — is endeared 
to all as one of the interesting Scripture narratives by 
which those who watched over us in the days of childhood 
endeavored to attract us onward to the knowledge of our 
Bible. In the book of Daniel it is related how Nebu- 
chadnezzar, after having been brought by the miraculous 
interpretation of his dream to acknowledge the " God of 
Gods and Lord of Kings," subsequently relapsed into idol- 
atry through the corrupting influence of worldly prosperit}\ 
In the full swell of his pride he set up a golden image, 
and commanded that all his subjects should fall down and 
worship it. The Babylonian nobles were jealous of the 
favor shown to the three captives ; and they, therefore, en- 
couraged this wicked fancy of the king, because it seemed 
to open out the means of effecting their ruin. They 
rightly calculated that the Hebrew Governors would never 
forsake the God of their Fathers, nor worship the image 



God magnified in his Works, il 

which the king had set up. And we know that when the 
hour of trial did come, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- 
nego remained true to their faith; and were forthwith 
bound and cast into the burning, fiery furnace, as a pun- 
ishment for their disobedience to the tyrant's will. 

From the torments and dangers of this ordeal the Three 
Hebrews were miraculously preserved. Daniel tells us 
that Nebuchadnezzar himself saw them " loose and walk- 
ing in the midst of the fire." " Not a hair of their heads 
was singed, neither were their coats changed, nor had the 
smell of fire passed on them." Elsewhere, in the Song 
of the Three Children, we are told that " they walked in 
the midst of the fire, praising God, and blessing the 
Lord." After so signal a deliverance, it is easy to con- 
ceive the fervor with which their Hymn of gratitude was 
poured forth. The deepest consciousness of the merciful 
Power of God welled up in their hearts and burst from 
their lips, and the whole universe was ransacked for illus- 
trations to typify and express it. In whatever direction 
they turned, they beheld Nature crowded with emblems of 
His Greatness and Mercy, and they eagerly seized upon 
them as aids to bring their thoughts up to the fervor of 
their adoration. Shall not we also do wisely to profit by 
their example ? Our daily obligations to God may not 
be so miraculous, in the ordinary meaning of the term, 
but they are, nevertheless, great and countless beyond our 
power to conceive. Let us then, in humble consciousness 
of the poverty and imperfection of our thanksgivings, 
gladly make this suggestive hymn our own ; and let us on 
this, as on all occasions, accept with joy every aid that 
helps us to "^bless, praise, and magnify the Lord." 



1 2 God magnified in his Works, 

JBenedicife, omnia opera. 

O ALL ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and mag- 
nify him for ever. 

O ye Waters that be above the Firmament, bless ye the 
Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

O all ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Sun and Moon, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Stars of Heaven, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Showers and Dew, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Winter and Summer, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Dews and Frosts, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Ice and Snow, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and 
magnify him for ever. 

O ye Nights and Days, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Light and Darkness, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 



God magnified in his Works, 13 

O let the Earth bless the Lord : yea, let it praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Mountains and Hills, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him and magnify him for ever. 

O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the 
Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Wells, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and mag- 
nify him for ever. 

O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye 
the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

O all ye Fowls of the Air, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O all ye Beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Children of Men, bless ye the Lord : praise him, 
and magnify him for ever. 

O let Israel bless the Lord : praise him, and magnify 
him for ever. 

O ye Priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord : praise 
him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye Spirits and Souls of the Righteous, bless ye the 
Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

O ye holy and humble Men of heart, bless ye the Lord : 
praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

O Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, bless ye the Lord : 
praise him, and magnify him for ever. 

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the 
Holy Ghost ; 

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be : 
world without end. Amen. 

The " Benedicite " forms a part of The Song of The 



14 God magnified in his Works, 

Three Children, with whom tradition has identified Sha- 
drach, Meshach, and Abednego. But, whether tradition 
be right or wrong in this instance, the Canticle has an 
intrinsic interest of its own, both because it has been in- 
corporated with the Service of the Episcopal Church, and 
because it is one of the most suggestive and soul-stirring 
hymns in existence. In accordance with an injunction in 
King Edward the Sixth's First Book, it is customary to 
sing the " Benedicite " during Lent, and in some churches, 
we regret to think, it is never heard at any other time, 
while in a few it seems to be banished from the Service 
altogether. It is also true that Books of Common Prayer 
have been published in which this hymn finds no place. 
It is impossible, indeed, not to perceive that there is a 
" shyness " or even a repugnance with some in regard to 
it, which causes it to be sung at the times prescribed 
rather in obedience to custom or ecclesiastical authority, 
than from any feeling of its fitness for devotional use. 
And yet, as it cannot be denied that many find in it a 
valued help to adoration, the conviction rises strongly in 
the mind that it is equally fitted to become an aid to all. 
Whence comes, let us ask, this difference in the effect 
produced by the same thing — whence this absence of 
appreciation which spoils and renders distasteful to some 
a hymn from which others derive such heart-felt benefit ? 
May not the cause lie either in a too literal acceptance of 
the words themselves, or in the want of those few grains 
of knowledge which alone were needed to bring home to 
us the force of the hymn as an exposition of the Power 
and Mercy of God. When sculptors and painters repre- 
sent animals bellowing forth their praise from gaping 
mouths, they embody the literal meaning of the words> 
and give currency to that erroneous conception of their 
import which, with more or less distinctness, has found an 
entrance into the minds of many. It seems almost need- 
less to remark that such a gross realization of the hymn 



God magnified in his Works. . 15 

misses its purpose altogether. The " beasts that perish " 
have no knowledge of their Creator, and are not suscep- 
tible of those emotions which constitute adoration ; while 
man is even less nobly distinguished from them by his 
form than he is by his moral nature, and his privilege of 
enjoying the perception of God and singing His praise. 
A literal interpretation given to the " Benedicite " clothes 
it with inconsistency, suggests an ^sopian fable rather 
than a Christian hymn, and tends to check rather than 
promote devotion. Every shade of such a meaning must 
be banished from the mind, and exchanged for another 
more true and elevating. It is only by the thoughts sug- 
gested by the wonderful perfections of animals that they 
can serve as aids to adoration j and it is in the same sense 
only that dead things — such as stars, the sea, or the wind 
— can be properly associated with living things as pro- 
moting with equal fitness the same end. If this interpre- 
tation be not admitted the words degenerate into extrava- 
gance, and are stripped of all their beautiful significance 
in the minds of thoughtful men. Invested with the same 
indirect meaning, the names of Ananias, Azarias, and 
Misael are most fitly introduced among the invocations of 
the hymn. They have, it is true, long passed from the 
scene of their trials ; but, though no voice of praise may 
rise from the grave, their memories remain to us as sym- 
bols of God's mercy and power. In thinking of them we 
recall the example of men who trusted in the Lord and 
were not forsaken — who were ready to brave the most 
cruel death rather than deny their faith — - and whom no 
tyrant could either terrify or hurt, because they were up- 
held by God's protection. Is there no aid to devotion 
in such examples, or in the thoughts that rise up in asso- 
ciation with such names ? On the contrary, no invoca- 
tion in the hymn is more profitable or suggestive. Thus, 
by their trusting faith when living, they continue, even 
though dead, to praise and magnify "the power of the 
Lord for ever." 



1 6 , God magnified in his Works, 

Though all are ready with the general admission that 
every thing in Nature exhibits the Power and Goodness 
of God, it will not be denied that a little knowledge of 
the way in which these are displayed would give additional 
distinctness to the feeling. Such knowledge, indeed, will 
often ser\^e to change what is merely a tame and pas- 
sive acquiescence into a fervent sentiment of adoration 
founded on conviction and experience. Now, if there be 
any truth in this remark, it is surely well worth while to 
turn our attention to such subjects. Physical Science and 
Natural History liberally reward their votaries, for every 
onward step is fraught with pleasure, and brings an im- 
mediate reward in the interest with which it invests the 
common things around us. Many of their most elevating 
secrets are to be learnt without that preliminary drudgery 
which besets the portals of some other sciences : and an 
amount of knowledge, so moderate as to be within the 
reach of every body, is all that is required to open out to 
us a clear view of those proofs of Power and Goodness 
which cluster round the verses of the " Benedicite." 

It need scarcely be remarked, however, that knowledge 
of this kind is not to be acquired in church, but by pre- 
vious preparation at home and in our walks. The offer- 
ing up of praise within the sanctuary exacts our whole 
mind and our whole heart, and our thoughts at such mo- 
ments must not be encouraged to wander away in search 
of illustrations of the truths we are uttering. Experience 
will soon bring to us the welcome proof that the thought- 
ful consideration of God's works which is based upon a 
knowledge of their nature and of the Power and Good- 
ness they display, creates a condition of mind so impressi- 
ble that every solemn allusion to them instantly and with- 
out conscious effort raises feelings of adoration in unison 
with the subject. The details of the wonderful perfec- 
tions by which these feelings were originally developed 
may be absent, or even forgotten, but the deep devotional 



God magnified in his Works, 17 

impress with which they once imbued the understanding 
never fades away. They who have acquired this sensibil- 
ity to those hymns of praise which are ever ascending 
from all God's works around, have found an aid to adora- 
tion, the value of which is known and thankfully acknowl- 
edged by themselves, but which must sometimes appear 
like extravagance or affectation to others who have never 
taken any pains to cherish it. It is only by such means 
that our sentiments can be brought into full harmony with 
the spirit of the hymn. But when the words of the 
" Benedicite " fall upon ears thus prepared by the under- 
standing and the heart, they speak the clearest language, 
and stand forth as the emblems of Power, Wisdom, and 
Goodness. 

All Thy works praise Thee, Lord. — Ps. cxlv. 

Of the fitness of the natural objects around us to 
awaken feelings of devotion there can be no doubt. All 
things are wonderfully made and wonderfully adjusted to 
each other ; and we alone, among created beings, have 
been endowed with faculties enabling us to recognize the 
perfections they exhibit, on purpose that we might praise 
God by the feelings they rouse within us. The Psalms of 
David are filled with beautiful illustrations to show how 
natural objects serve as aids to adoration, and it may be 
safely asserted that a Book of Praise was never yet writ- 
ten in which they were not thus used. If there be any 
skeptic who believes not in this power, let him make trial. 
Experience will soon convert him, and draw an answer of 
thankful consciousness from his own heart. 

The object of this book is to offer a series of illustra- 
tions of the Beneficence and Greatness of God, as they 
are suggested to our minds by the words of the " Benedi- 
cite." A few of the verses, it will be noticed, are omitted, 
not because they are inapplicable to devotion, but be- 
cause they do not come within range of that kind of illus- 
2 



1 8 God magnified in his Works, 

tration to which I have thought it proper to confine my- 
self. But, within this limitation, enough and more than 
enough remains for the work on hand. It may, indeed, 
be truly said that he who undertakes to select from the 
many fields of Nature the most striking examples of God's 
Providence will find his chief difiiculty to arise from the 
" embarrassment of riches." He is like a man wander- 
ing in a gallery where all is truth and perfection, and who 
has rashly engaged to single out that only which is pre- 
eminently the best. A feeling of this kind weighs on me 
now, for, while illustrations abound on every side, I fear 
lest I should select some examples where others ought to 
have been preferred, — not because they were more won- 
derful or more perfect, but because they were better 
adapted for the purpose here intended. Let me hasten to 
disclaim all^ pretension to instruct the learned or the sci- 
entific. It becomes me here rather to acknowledge with 
gratitude my own obligations to them. It would, indeed, 
be difiicult to treat satisfactorily of the various matters 
contained in this book without seeking to profit by the 
labors of the Herschels, Whewell, Maur}^, Guillemin, 
Lardner, Owen, Darvvin, and many others whose names 
are well known as the authors of standard works. I know 
beforehand that the subject, for its own sake, will be re- 
ceived with sympathy by those whose delight it is ever to 
be on the outlook for the suggestion of trains of thought 
which lead them to magnify God in His Works ; but it 
would be even more gratifying to me if I should succeed 
in awakening an interest in the " Benedicite " in some 
who, perhaps, may not have hitherto considered the ob- 
jects therein invoked under the aspect here given to 
them. Soon will they make the precious discovery that 
they cannot add a line to their knowledge of the natural 
objects around them without at the same time adding to 
the distinctness of the feeling with which they join in the 
words of the hymn. 



God magnified in his Works, 19 

While endeavoring to illustrate the effect of a little 
knowledge in developing that sensitiveness to the divine 
Power and Mercy which, while it softens the heart, beck- 
ons us onward to that worship which springs from the 
contemplation of natural objects, I wish carefully to guard 
against every appearance of desiring to elevate this means 
above its proper place. We are here dealing with the 
things that belong to the kingdom of nature, and not with 
those pertaining to the kingdom of grace ; and, if need 
be, it must often be recalled that how praiseworthy soever 
this meditative worship may be, it can never supersede, 
and must always be subordinate to, those higher motives 
for worship which are unfolded in the doctrines of Chris- 
tianity. The one is essential and must be done ; while 
all that can be said of the other is that it is both fitting 
and profitable, and ought not to be left undone. God has 
graciously endowed us with faculties to comprehend His 
Works, and with every new appreciation of His design 
we seem to be taken more and more into His confidence. 
Shall we then neglect or throw away this inestimable privi- 
lege, or can we ever hope to employ our talents in a no- 
bler or more elevating purpose? Experience will prove 
that God blesses our efforts to trace out the perfection of 
His Works with an immediate reward, for the pursuit is 
replete with rational pleasure no less than with moral im- 
provement. 

praise the Lord with me, let us magnify His name together. — 

Ps. xxxiv. 



THE HEAVENS. 




O ye Heanjens, bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and magnijy Him 

for enjer, 

MONG all the sights the eye can look upon noth- 
ing is comparable to the Heavens for the senti- 
ment with which they charm the mind. The lan- 
guage they speak comes to us from remote, mysterious 
worlds ; but, though it may be impe'lrfectly understood, it 
is at least universally felt. The great and the little — the 
civilized man and the savage, the philosopher and the 
rustic — all feel their influence, and are from time to time 
irresistibly drawn toward them by mingled emotions of 
admiration, gratitude, and awe, such as none of the other 
features of Nature can excite in an equal degree. No 
wonder, therefore, that the Three Children, intent on call- 
ing up every image by which God's Goodness to men and 
their dependence on Him could be depicted, should first 
of all turn toward the Heavens. Again and again the 
grand features of the firmament are passed in review, and 
invoked with fervor. In the eager intensity of their feel- 
ings order and method are but little regarded, and they 
pour forth their thoughts in song as these come welling up 
in their minds. So may it happily sometimes "be with 
ourselves ; and in those moments when we too are drawn 
with desire to " bless, praise, and magnify the Lord " for 
the visible works of Creation, we shall surely find that the 
Heavens suggest to our conception the grandest symbols 
of His power and goodness. 

So strongly, however, is the idea of the " incompre- 



The Heavens, 21 

hensible " associated by many with the mysteries of the 
firmament, that they are habitually prone to regard the 
teachings of astronomers as little else than scientific 
guess-work. Nevertheless, the best intellects in all coun- 
tries assure us, and demonstrate before our eyes, that, 
within certain limits. Astronomy is the most exact and per- 
fect of sciences, and that, even when it deals with dis- 
tances and magnitudes which are practically inconceivable, 
its conclusions, though often claiming to be approximative 
only, have yet no affinity whatever with guess-work. Let 
such skeptics think of the certainty with which sidereal 
events are predicted beforehand. Let them reflect on the 
evidence of the most exact knowledge of the heavenly 
bodies involved in the calculation of eclipses, in fixing the 
very moment when the moon's dark outline shall begin to 
creep over the sun's bright disk, or in predicting the in- 
stant when a planet's light shall be extinguished behind 
our satellite. How wonderful the tracking of a comet's 
wanderings — millions of miles beyond the far-off region 
of Uranus, and foretelling the time of its return after long 
years of absence ! Do not these, and a thousand other 
equally wonderful feats, attest both the soundness of the 
principles on which the astronomer works, and the reason- 
ableness of receiving his assurances with trust, even 
though it may be impossible for more than a few gifted 
minds to follow the calculations on which they are based ? 
Did any of our readers ever happen to bestow a glance 
upon the " Nautical Almanac " ? It is published by the 
British Government at a very cheap rate, in order to facil- 
itate its entrance into the cabin of every sea-going ship. 
Ostensibly it is a voluminous collection of dry figures and 
curious signs running on interminably page after page \ 
but, in reality, it is a yearly record of the soundness of the 
teachings of Astronomy, and of the blessings they bring 
to man. Eclipses of the sun and moon, of Jupiter's satel- 
lites, sidereal positions and distances, and a multitude of 



22 The Heavens, 

m 

Other heavenly events and matters of the last importance 
to navigation, are there foretold with the most rigid exact- 
ness. Every single figure and every single sign represents 
an important sidereal fact, and is charged with a message 
from the skies for our guidance. On the trackless ocean 
this book is the mariner's trusted friend and counsellor, 
and daily and nightly its revelations bring safety to ships 
in all parts of the world. The acquisition of such rare 
and precious knowledge — this mapping out beforehand, 
almost to a hair-breadth, the exact order and track in 
which the heavenly bodies will run their course through 
space, and the precise relative position they will occupy at 
any given moment when they can be seen in any part of 
the world — is a fact which, if applicable to the current 
year only, might well fill us with astonishment. But it 
becomes infinitely more marvelous when we reflect that 
the " Nautical Almanac " is regularly published three or 
four years in advance, in order that the mariner, during 
the most distant voyages which commerce can exact, may 
never be without his faithful monitor. It is truly some- 
thing more than a mere book — it is an emblem of the 
Power and Order of the Creator in the government of the 
Heavens, and a monument of the extent to which His 
creatures are privileged to unravel the laws of the Uni- 
verse ! 

The year 1846 will ever be memorable for having wit- 
nessed one of the most striking illustrations of the truth 
of Astronomy. Few can have forgotten the astonishment 
with which the discovery of the planet Neptune was then 
received, or the fact that it was due not to a lucky or ac- 
cidental pointing of the telescope toward a particular 
quarter of the Heavens, but to positive calculations worked 
out in the closet ; thus proving that, before the planet was 
seen by the eye, it had been already grasped by the mind. 
The history of its finding was a triumph of human intel- 
lect. The distant Uranus — a planet hitherto orderly 



The Heavens, 23 

and correct — begins to show unusual movements in its 
orbit. It is, somehow, not exactly in the spot where ac- 
cording to the best calculations it ought to have been, and 
the whole astronomical world is thrown into perplexity. 
Two mathematicians, as yet but little known to fame, liv- 
ing far apart in different countries and acting independ- 
ently of each other, concentrate the force of their pene- 
trating intellects to find out the cause. The most obvious 
way of accounting for the event was to have inferred that 
some error in previous computations had occurred ; and, 
in a matter so difficult, so abstruse, and so far off, what 
could have been more probable or more pardonable? 
But these astronomers knew that the laws of gravity were 
fixed and sure, and that figures truly based on them could 
not deceive. By profound calculations each arrives at 
the conclusion that nothing can account for the " pertur- 
bation " except the disturbing influence of some hitherto 
unknown mass of matter exerting its attraction in a cer- 
tain quarter of the Heavens. So implicit, so undoubting 
is the faith of Leverrier in the truth of his deductions, 
that he requests a brother astronomer in Berlin to look 
out for this mass at a special point in space on a particu- 
lar night ; and there, sure enough, the disturber immedi- 
ately discloses himself, and soon shows his title to be 
admitted into the steady and orderly rank of his fellow- 
planets. The coincidence of two astronomers, Leverrier 
and our countryman Adams,"* arriving at this discovery 
through the agency of figures based on physical observa- 
tion, precludes every idea of guess-work ; while such was 
the agreement between their final deductions that the 
point of the Heavens fixed upon by both as the spot 
where the disturber lay was almost identical. " Such a 
discovery," says Arago, "is one of the most brilliant 
manifestations of the exactitude of the system of modern 
astronomers." 

* Of Cambridge, England. 



24 The Heavens, 

As the Heavens have irresistibly attracted the atten- 
tion of mankind in all ages, Astronomy naturally came to 
be the Father of sciences, and it was from remotest times 
cultivated with considerable success by the Chaldeans on 
the plains of Mesopotamia. Doubtless the Three He- 
brews at Nebuchadnezzar's court were well versed in the 
science of their day, but, whatever the amount of that 
knowledge might have been, it must have been extremely 
imperfect when measured by modern standards. Com- 
paratively speaking they knew but little of the grandeur 
of the Heavens ; and yet that little amply sufficed to 
point with its imagery the fervor of their worship. Since 
then, by God's blessing, the range of Astronomy has been 
widened, its views soar higher and probe deeper, its 
truths are better comprehended, its marvelous adjust- 
ments have been analyzed and traced more clearly upon 
the understanding. Shall we, then, with our better knowl- 
edge, find less aid in it to rouse our adoration than did 
the Three Children of old, and shall the more perfect 
view of the Heavens now vouchsafed to us fall cold and 
resultless upon our hearts ? If this, indeed, be the case, 
are we not treating with neglect an aid to adoration which 
God himself has spread out before our eyes, and are we 
not in some degree frustrating that purpose of praise and 
glorification for which both they and we were created ? 

Astronomy is without question the grandest of sciences. 
It deals with masses, distances, and velocities which in 
their immensity belong specially to itself alone, and of 
which the mere conception transcends the utmost stretch 
of our finite faculties. In no other branch of science is 
the limited grasp of our intellect more forcibly brought 
home to us. Yet, though baffled in the effort to rise to 
the level of its requirements, our strivings are by no 
means profitless. Is it not truly a precious privilege to 
be able to trace, imperfectly though it may be, the hand 
of the All-mighty Architect in these his grandest works, 



The Heavens, 25 

and to obtain by this means a broader consciousness of 
his Omnipotence ? In raising our wonder and admiration 
other sciences need the help of details and expositions, 
but in Astronomy the mere enunciation of 3, few measure- 
ments suffices to elevate our ideas of His Power to the 
highest point to which man's finite faculties cin carry 
them. 

The expense of suitable instruments, the preliminary 
"study, the persevering patience, and the long night \dgils 
that are necessary will probably always prevent the higher 
walks of scientific Astronomy from becoming a popular 
pursuit ; nevertheless, we earnestly recommend all who 
can to seize every opportunity that may fall in their way 
of having a thoughtful look at the Heavens through a 
good telescope. Their reward will be immediate. Even 
were they to take their peep with feelings not more ele- 
vated than those with which folks at a fair look at a rare 
show, the glance would bring some profit ; but, if they be 
prepared beforehand with their " few grains of knowl- 
edge," how useful and improving the survey becomes. 
The first look at the Heavens through a good telescope 
forms an epoch in our life. Our faith in the realities of 
Astronomy passes with sudden bound from theory into 
practice ; planets and stars become henceforth distinct 
and solid existences in our minds ; our doubts vanish, and 
our belief settles into conviction. We behold the myste- 
rious Moon of our childhood mapped into brilliant moun- 
tain-peaks, and dark precipices, and softly lighted plains ; 
we see Jupiter shining like another fair Luna, with attend- 
ant satellites moving round him in their well-known 
paths ; or we turn with admiration to Saturn encircled by 
his famous ring, with outlines as distinct as if that glorious 
creation lay but a few miles off. Perhaps we may behold 
the beauteous Venus shining with resplendent circular 
disk, or curiously passing through her many phases in 
mimic rivalry of the Moon. Or, leaving these near neigh- 



26 The Heavens, 

bors far behind, we may penetrate more deeply into 
space, and mark how the brightest flashing stars are re- 
duced to a small, round, unmagnifiable point. A few 
evening exploitations in propitious weather will suffice to 
grave all these objects and many other precious recollec- 
tions in* our minds for ever. Then is realized, better than 
at any previous moment of our existence, the power of the 
Lord of Creation. 

While Astronomy, beyond all other sciences, thus lifts- 
up man's conception of God's glory as displayed in His 
works, it is no less calculated to bring home to him the 
" littleness " of his own world amid the great creations of 
the Universe. The stupendous truths at which the finger 
of Astronomy is ever pointing ought to keep uppermost in 
his heart the wholesome lesson of humility. Well may 
the oft-told interjection rise to his lips, Lord, what is man 
that Thou art mindful of him ! Such thoughts, indeed, 
bring with them both humility and exultation. Man's 
habitation is in very truth a mere speck in the Universe, 
dwarfed and throv/n into the shade by nearly all the 
worlds around it, and he himself is a mere atom creeping 
through his brief existence upon its surface. His high 
place in Creation is won by the loftiness of his moral 
nature, and, above all, by the destiny that awaits him. 
Apart from this revelation, man and his earth are but a 
grain of dust among the myriads of worlds that people the 
infinity of space. 

Therefore shall every good man sing of Thy praise without ceasing. — 

Ps. XXX. 





SUJV AND MOON, 



O ye Sun and Moon^ Bless ye the Lord ; praise Him, and magnify 

Kim for enjer. 



HERE are not a few in this world who habitually 
receive God's blessings so much as a matter of 
'^^*^*^^l course that they are scarcely conscious of any 
active feeling of gratitude in regard to them. The very 
regularity and profusion with which these blessings are 
showered on all alike seems to have the effect of deaden- 
ing the sense of individual obligation. A general admis- 
sion of thankfulness may occasionally be made at church 
or in the closet, but there is a want of that abiding con- 
sciousness of it with which we ought to be imbued, as 
well as of that frequent pondering upon details which, by 
illustrating the dependence of every creature upon God, 
causes the heart to swell with grateful adoration. Such 
thoughts never fail to improve our moral nature by bring- 
ing the truth home to us more and more that we are in- 
deed God's children. 

It would be no easy task for a thankful mind to sum up 
all the blessings diffused over our planet by the Sun. It 
is the mainspring of animated Nature. Without its genial 
rays the present system of the earth's government could 
not endure, and life itself would soon disappear from the 
globe. To it we are indebted for light and warmth — the 
twin stimulants of vital force — for our food and clothing, 
for our busy days and rest-bringing nights, for months and 
years, and happy alternations of the seasons. Its rays, in 



28 Sun and Moon, 

short, are intertwined with all our wants and comforts j 
they gladden the eye and cheer the heart. 

I will praise the name of God with a song, and magnify it with thanks' 

giving. — Ps. Ixix. 

The Sun is the central pivot of the solar system, and 
round it the Earth and all the other planets keep whirl- 
ing in elliptical orbits. Its power and influence — its 
light, heat, and attraction — reach through a domain in 
space which it would require a line of more than 6000 
millions of miles to span. With the greater part of this 
wide field astronomers are familiar, and it may be truly 
said that scarcely a man knows the roads of his own parish 
with more exactness than they do the highways of the 
skies. Not only can they map out to a nicety the paths 
of the planets careering through it like islands floating in 
a sea of ether, but they can look backward and tell the 
exact spot where each globe was at any moment of the 
remote past, or forward, and point to the place where 
each will be found at any given moment of the remote 
future. 

What is the mighty power which thus maintains such 
order in the Heavens, which steadies the -planets in their 
orbits, and traces out for them a route so wisely planned 
as to avoid all chances of collision ? Two antagonistic 
forces — gravitation or attraction, combined with a cen- 
trifugal impulse — accomplish the wonderful task. To 
these faithful servants, which know neither fatigue nor 
slumber, God commits the safety of the Universe. Let 
us in imagination glance back to that far-off time when 
" in the beginning the Heavens and the Earth were 
created." Matter having been prepared suflicient, it may 
be, for the vast requirements of the solar system, every 
particle of it was endowed with the property of mutual 
attraction, and the force of this attraction was fixed so as 
to act in a certain proportion to mass and distance. In 



Su7i and Moon* 29 

other words, the law then impressed on matter was, that 
attraction should increase according to mass, and diminish 
according to the square of the distance. The matter of 
the solar system may have been created in separate por- 
tions, or it may have been divided into separate portions 
corresponding to the size of the different planets ; after 
which, the particles of each planet, being as yet mobile, 
arranged themselves in obedience to their mutual attrac- 
tion into globes, just as we see the mobile particles of 
water coalesce into a drop, or as quicksilver runs into 
globules. The Sun was placed in the centre, and became 
the pivot of the whole system, tying to itself the different 
planets by the cord of its superior attraction. In accord- 
ance with the law just mentioned, this loadstone power 
of the Sun was the inevitable result of its superior mass. 
It is obvious that in whatever corner of the Sun's do- 
main the planets had been placed, the searching power of 
his attraction would have found them out, and would in- 
evitably have destroyed them by dragging them in upon 
himself, had this tendency not been counteracted by some 
other influence. Another force, therefore, was established 
-—the centrifugal. The Great Architect, "weighing in 
His hand," as the Psalmist figuratively, and yet almost 
literally expresses it, the mass of each orb, projected it 
on its course through space with exactly that force and at 
exactly that angle which was needed to counterbalance 
the attractive power of the Sun ; and the obedient globe, 
thus seized upon by the two balanced forces, was com- 
pelled to move onward in a path representing the diago- 
nal between both. And as these forces are permanent, 
the movements of the Earth and of the other planets must 
be permanent also ; nor can any thing stop the working 
of this most perfect machine except the Word which cre- 
ated it. 

The voice of the Lord is mighty in operation. — Ps. xxix. 



30 Sun and Moon, 

How shall we mentally gauge the distance or estimate 
the size of the master-centre which thus holds all the 
planets in his grasp ? The immensity of both confounds 
our efforts. AVhen we are told that the Sun is separated 
from us by a chasm of nearly 92 millions of miles, that 
its diameter is 850,000 miles, and its circumference about 
2,671,000 miles, we can realize nothing beyond a vague 
idea of vastness, and we are forced to look round for other 
standards to help our laggard faculties. From the com- 
paratively small size of his disk when viewed from the 
Earth, we catch the idea how enormous that distance must 
be which is able thus to dwarf it down. It is 384 times as 
far off as the Moon. A cannon-ball fired from the earth 
and keeping up its velocity, would not reach it in less than 
22 years. "A railway train," Brayley observes, "at the 
average speed of thirty miles an hoiir, continuously main- 
tained, would arrive at the Moon in eleven months, but 
would not reach the Sun in less than about 352 years ; so 
that if such a train had been started in the year 15 12, the 
third year of the reign of Henry VIII., it would only have 
reached the sun in 1864." 

The Sun's diameter is equally astounding. It exceeds 
by 107 times the mean diameter of the Earth. It is nearly 
four times greater than the radius of the Moon's orbit 
round the Earth ; so that if the Earth were placed in the 
centre of the Sun, the Moon's orbit, so far from extending 
to the circumference of the Sun, would scarcely reach to 
within 187,000 miles of its surface. The locomotive just 
mentioned, on its arrival at the Sun, "would be rather 
more than a year and a half in reaching the Sun's centre, 
three years and a half in passing across the Sun, suppos- 
ing it were tunneled through, and ten years and one eighth 
in going round it." " Now the same train would attain 
the centre of the Earth in five days and a half, pass through 
it in eleven days, and go round it in thirty-seven days." 
The bulk of the Sun is not less than 600 times as great 



Sun and Moon, 31 

as that of all the planets put together ; and it would take 
1,405,000 Earths to make a globe of equal magnitude. 

Great difference of opinion prevails among astronomers 
respecting the physical condition of the Sun, and both its 
surface and encircling atmospheres are full of mysteri- 
ous grandeur. Still, although not so well known as the 
planets, many points of interest have been partially made 
out. Its surface is much more rugged than that of our 
planet, with heights and clefts somewhat on the scale of 
its vast magnitude. A mountain in the Sun, however, in 
order to bear the same proportion to it as our highest 
Himalayan peaks do to our Earth, would require to attain 
an altitude of- 600 miles : now none of its mountains have 
been estimated at more than 200 miles high. The moun- 
tains on the Earth have been compared to the inequalities 
upon the rind of an orange, while those of the Sun would 
in their proportion more resemble the tubercles of a pine- 
apple. 

Most astronomers consider the Sun to be an incandes- 
cent body encircled by two atmospheres. Its temperature 
probably varies in the different parts of its immensity, but, 
where most intense, it appears to transcend any thing we 
can conceive. Like the distances and velocities and nearly 
all else that relates to the heavenly orbs, the degree of the 
Sun's heat overtasks our power to imagine, and we. should 
require for its comprehension some new standard of meas- 
urement. The minimum of solar temperature, indeed, 
seems to begin far above the point where terrestrial tem- 
perature leaves off. According to one philosopher the 
heat is " seven times as great as that of the vivid ignition 
of the fuel in the strongest blast furnace ; " while another, 
after a careful series of experiments, estimates it at nearly 
13 millions of degrees of Fahrenheit ! To aid us in ap- 
preciating this temperature, or rather to show us how im- 
possible it is for us even to conceive it, it may be borne 
in mind that cast-iron requires for fusion a heat which 



32 Sun and Moon, 

amounts only to 2786 degrees, and that the oxy-hydrogen 
flame — one of the hottest known — does not much ex- 
ceed 14000° Fahrenheit, which is scarcely one thousandth 
part of the temperature here ascribed to the Sun. 

Of the two atmospheres encircling the Sun, that which 
is nearest its surface is considered to be nonluminous, 
while the other floats upon it and forms the " photo- 
sphere " which we see in looking at the Sun's bright disk. 
From this photosphere, as well as, probably, from the sur- 
face of the Sun itself, are radiated the heat and light which 
are to vivify the planets of the solar system. Flame-like 
masses — some computed to be 150,000 miles in length — 
are piled upon or overlap each other, and sweep onward 
in constant agitation, like mountain-billows of living fire. 
Although the light afforded by this furnace pales that of 
every other luminary, its amount has been approximately 
ascertained, for the purpose, as we shall soon see, of serv- 
ing as a standard to astronomers when estimating the dis- 
tances of the stars by means of the light they evolve. 
Thus WoUaston calculated that 20 millions of stars as 
bright as Sirius, or rather more than 800,000 full moons, 
would be required in order to shed upon the Earth an illu- 
mination equal to that of the Sun. Another estimate 
makes sunlight equal to 5570 wax candles held at a dis- 
tance of only one foot from an object. 

Let us now turn our back upon the Sun, which for the 
sake of comparison may be represented by a globe two 
feet in diameter, and let us in imagination wing our way 
across the space filled by the solar system. A short flight 
of 37 millions of miles brings us to a world which, com- 
pared with the two-feet globe, is no bigger than a grain of 
mustard-seed, while it is so bathed in the Sun's dazzling 
rays that it is not easily distinguished when viewed from 
our Earth. This fussy little planet whirls round the Sun 
at the tremendous pace of a hundred thousand miles an 
hour, by which he proves his title to be called Mercury, 



Sun and Moon. 33 

the " swift-footed " of mythology. The Sun being so near 
attracts it with prodigious force, and to counteract this de- 
structive tendency a corresponding centrifugal impulse was 
absolutely needed. From the strength of these two an- 
tagonistic forces its great velocity naturally results. The 
adjustment is perfect. At a distance of 68 millions of 
miles from the Sun we behold Venus, the brightest and 
most dazzling of the heavenly hosts. In comparative 
size, she may be represented by a pea. She is our near- 
est neighbor among the planets, and the conditions under 
which she exists recall many of those amid which we our- 
selves live. 

About 92 millions of miles from the Sun we come upon 
another "pea," a trifle larger than the one representing 
Venus, and in it we hail our old familiar mother Earth. 
Here we shall not now linger, but passing onward some 
50 millions of miles we are attracted by the well-known 
ruddy glow of Mars, — an appearance which may depend 
either on the refraction of light in its atmosphere, resem- 
bling what we ourselves often see at sunset, or on the pre- 
vailing color of its soil, which may be as highly tinted as 
our "old red sandstone." The comparative size is that 
of a pin's head. Mars is a planet that has lived down a 
very bad character. For ages every star-poet, astrologer, 
and almanac-maker had an ill word to say about him, 
and all sorts of evil things, including "manslaughter, 
byrnings of houses, and warres," were ascribed to his cross 
nature. But truth has at length prevailed, and he is now 
established as an orderly member of the solar company. 
His mean orbital speed is 54,000 miles an hour — nearly 
our own pace — but, as he takes twice as much time to 
run round the Sun as we do, his year is consequently 
twice as long. Casting a glance behind we are reminded 
of the distance that now separates us from the Sun by the 
perceptible waning of his light. 

We next spread our wings for a very long flight. In 



34 "^^^ ^^^^ Moon. 

passing through the " asteroid " zone of solar space, about 
260 millions of miles from the Sun, we may chance to fall 
in with some worlds so small that a locomotive could 
travel round them in a few hours. We know not very 
much about them except that their ways are eccentric and 
mysterious. They want the smooth round outline of the 
old planets. Their rugged and fragmentary aspect sug- 
gests that they may be the mere ruins of some mighty 
parent-planet, shattered into pieces by the Word of the 
Architect, and skillfully stowed away in space, so as to 
harmonize with the nice balancings of the solar system. 

At length the shores of huge Jupiter are reached at a 
distance of nearly 500 millions of miles from the Sun. 
To carry on the comparison, he is a " small orange " to 
the " pea " of our Earth, or to the two-feet globe that rep- 
resents the Sun. His orbit is a path 3000 millions of 
miles long, which he accomplishes in an " annual " period 
of nearly 12 of our years. The Sun's light has now 
shrunk considerably, but four brilliant moons or satellites, 
one or more of which are always "full," help to afford 
some compensation. These moons, distant though they 
be from our Earth, are not without their use to man, and 
there is hardly a well-inform.ed mariner that leaves our 
shores who cannot occasionally turn them to account in 
settling his position at sea. The principle is extremely 
simple. The exact moment when one of these moons is 
eclipsed behind Jupiter's disk has to be noted, by chro- 
nometer rated to Greenwich time, and by a reference to 
the " Nautical Almanac " it may be compared with the hour 
at which the same event is timed for Greenwich. The 
difference in time will give the longitude, 4 minutes being 
allowed for each degree. If the eclipse be in advance of 
Greenwich time, the ship is to the east of that place ; 
and to the west of it in the contrary case. Thus the good 
Lord has combined the lighting up of this far-off planet 
with a blessing to the inhabitants of our Earth. 



Sun and Moon, 35 

Before we arrive at Saturn, in our " outward-bound " 
course, we have to pass through a space nearly equal to 
the distance of Jupiter from the Sun. We are now more 
than 900 millions of miles distant from the central pivot. 
Saturn's comparative size may be represented by an 
orange co.nsiderably smaller than the last. His year swal- 
lows up almost thirty of our own. The Sun, though 
hardly giving one ninetieth part of the light which we re- 
ceive, is still equal to 300 full moons, and is at least suf- 
ficient for vision, and all the necessary purposes of life. 
No fewer than eight satellites supplement thew aning sun- 
light, besides a mysterious luminous " ring " of vast pro- 
portions. 

Twice as far away from the Sun as Saturn, Uranus, rep- 
resented by a cherr}^, plods his weary way. Although he 
has a real diameter of 35,000 miles, he is rarely to be seen 
from the Earth by the naked eye. His annual journey 
round the Sun is 10,000 millions of miles, and he con- 
sumes what we should consider a lifetime — 84 years — 
in getting over it. His nights are lighted up by at least 
four moons that are known, but several others probably 
exist. The illumination received from the Sun even here 
is equal to several hundred moons. Our little Earth has 
now faded out of sight. 

Only a few years ago Uranus was the last planetary 
station of our system, but the discovery of Neptune in 
1846 gave us another resting-place on the long journey 
into space. Here, at a distance of 2862 millions of miles 
from the Sun, we may pause awhile before entering upon 
the more remote exploration of the starry universe. We 
are approaching the frontier regions of our system, and 
the Sun's light and the power of his attraction are grad- 
ually passing away. Between the shores of our sun-sys- 
tem and the shores of the nearest star-system lies a vast, 
mysterious chasm, in the adjacent recesses of which may 
still lurk some undiscovered planets, but into which, so 



36 Sun and Moon. 

far as we yet know, the wandering comets alone plunge 
deeply. We stand on the frontier of the Sun's domain, 
and we are in imagination looking across one of those 
broad gulfs which, like impassable ramparts, fence off the 
different systems of the Universe from each other. It 
seemed needful that the Great Architect should interpose 
some such barrier between the contending attractions of 
the giant masses of matter scattered through space — 
that there should be a sea of limitation in which forces 
whose action might disturb each other should die out and 
be extinguished. In it the light-flood of our glorious Sun 
gets weaker and weaker, and its bright disk wastes away 
by distance until it shines no bigger than a twinkling star. 
And the strong chain of its attraction, which held with 
firm grasp the planets in their orbits, after dwindling by 
fixed degrees into a force that would not break a gossa- 
mer, is finally dissipated and lost. 

It has been already stated that the Earth and its fel- 
low-planets are kept steady in their orbits by the exact 
adjustment of centrifugal and centripetal forces. They 
are in the position of the stone whirled round in a sling. 
If let go from the centre, they would fly off into space ; 
if surrendered to the sole influence of the Sun's attraction, 
they would inevitably be dragged into the vortex of its 
flames. As a curiosity in Astronomy, calculations have 
been made to show the time which each planet would re- 
quire for its fall into the Sun. Thus it appears that while 
Mercury, the nearest, would require a fortnight, Uranus, 
at a distance of 1820 millions of miles, would be nearly 
15 years in falling ; while our Earth would take 64I- days 
before it crashed into the Sun. 

Such calculations, however, have not always had a 
merely speculative interest. There was a time, not so 
very remote, when the possibility, or rather the certainty, 
of our Earth dashing headlong into the Sun seemed to 
be only too well established. Weak minds were terrified, 



Sun and Moon, 37 

and even the soundest astronomers were perplexed at the 
alarming import of their own deductions. A hundred 
years have scarcely elapsed since the astronomer Halley 
startled the world by announcing the existence of a flaw 
in the construction of the solar system, by which the cer- 
tain though distant ruin of our Earth was involved. He 
was led to this supposed discovery by a comparison of 
the eclipses of his own time with those recorded by Ptol- 
emy in the second, and by Albutegnius in the ninth cen- 
X\xrj. From this comparison it appeared to be established 
that the mean velocity of the Earth in her orbit was in- 
creasing. The philosophers of that day were puzzled, 
nor was the cause of this circumstance explained until 
Laplace demonstrated that it was due to a diminution in 
the eccentricity of the Earth's orbit round the Sun, pro- 
duced by certain perturbing influences in the planets. 
This orbit, as our readers know, is elliptical, and, as it 
was proved that this ellipsis tended to change into a 
"round " or circle, at the rate of about 41 miles annually, 
it followed that a perfectly circular orbit would be estab- 
lished in the course of 37,527 years. 

But the conclusion to which this discovery led was 
frightful. The sure effect would be to draw the Earth 
nearer and nearer to the Sun, until at length the centripe- 
tal would so overbalance the centrifugal force, that our 
globe would fall helplessly into it. It is true, the lease of 
existence thus given to the Earth, even on the most un- 
favorable estimate, was a long one ; but its direful end- 
ing appalled contemplation, and concentrated upon the 
question the whole intellectual strength of astronomers. 
Never was the surpassing construction of the solar sys- 
tem made more strikingly manifest than when Laplace 
demonstrated that this "weak point" had not been 
overlooked by the Great Architect. In a way which 
cannot be here explained, but which has received the 
assent of all succeeding astronomers, he showed that the 



38 Sun and Moon, 

alteration in its orbit which the Earth is now undergoing 
can only continue up to a certain point, and that, when 
this point is reached, other planetary influences will come 
into play, which, by gradually undoing the work that has 
been done, will ultimately bring back the Earth once more 
rhto her old ellipsoid orbit. And when the limit is again 
reached in the latter direction, the " influences " will again 
change, and a new progress toward circularity will re- 
commence. Thus, so far from leading to the destruction 
of our Earth, this regular oscillation specially provides for 
its unlimited endurance ; nor can any thing stop the per- 
, feet machinery of our solar system, except the Word of 
the Almighty Artificer who created it. 

He hath made the round world so sure that it cannot be moved. — Ps. xciii. 

In gazing at our fellow-planets, as on a clear night they 
stand out with preeminent brightness among the twink- 
ling stars, who has not longed to penetrate the mystery 
of their being, and to know whether they, like our own 
Earth, are worlds full of life and movement ? The vast 
distance that intervenes between us forbids us to expect a 
direct solution of the question, for no instruments we can 
make, or even hope to make, will bring their possible in- 
habitants within the range of vision. We are reduced, 
therefore, to survey them with the sifting force of intel- 
lect, and to rest contented with such circumstantial proof 
as is derived from a knowledge of their general structure, 
and the analogies subsisting between them and our Earth. 

Among our nearest neighbors, Venus is nearly the size 
of our Earth ; and Mercury and Mars, though considera- 
bly smaller, would still form worlds which, to our ideas, 
would not in their magnitude be so very different from 
our own. All the planets revolve in elliptical orbits 
round the Sun, and the time consumed in this journey 
constitutes their year. Their polar axis is not " straight 
up and down," but leans over or is " inclined " to the 



Sun and Moon, 39 

plane of their orbit, so that each pole is turned toward 
the Sun at one period of the year, and away from it at an- 
other. This arrangement insures the regular alternation 
of seasons and a variety of climates on their surface. The 
orbital inclination of Mars, for example, is much the same 
as that of the Earth, and therefore the relative proportion 
of his seasons must have a close resemblance to our own. 
It might be expected under these circumstances that ice 
would accumulate toward the poles in winter time, as on 
the Earth, and accordingly glacial accumulations have not 
only been observed by astronomers, but it has been re- 
marked that they occasionally diminish by melting dur- 
ing the heats of summer, while they increase in winter. 

Again, the planets, like the Earth, turn round on their 
axes with perfect regularity, and those just mentioned do 
so in very similar periods of time. Hence all have their 
days and nights. These divisions represent in our minds 
intervals mercifully set apart by Providence for the wel- 
fare of living creatures — times designedly arranged to 
regulate alternate labor and rest in beings whose require- 
ments in this respect would seem to be analogous to our 
own. Diurnal rotation, moreover, insures to each planet 
a determinate amount of light and heat from the Sun, 
which is necessary to the well-being both of animals and 
plants ; and it is measured out to them with a regularity 
equal to that with which we ourselves receive it. One 
can see no other purpose that could be served by diurnal 
rotation except the distribution of light and heat ; and, if 
the axes of the planets had been " inclined " very differ- 
ently to what is actually the case, this purpose would not 
have been so efficiently accomplished. The amount of 
light and heat received by the more distant planets must 
be necessarily small in comparison with our own supply ; 
thus at Neptune it is a thousand times less than at our 
Earth. Still it is easy to conceive that by a correspond- 
ing increase in the sensibility of the retina nearly every 



40 Sun and Moon. 

purpose of vision may be adequately fulfilled. Even on 
our own Earth there are animals which see with an 
amount of light which to us is little else than darkness. 

The next point of analogy is that most of the planets, 
if not all, are surrounded with atmospheres which distrib- 
ute and refract the light, while they retain and intensify 
the heat, just as on our Earth. In some of them, indeed, 
as in Venus, the soft twilight is as visible to astronomers, 
as our own twilight is to ourselves. Earth has its atmos- 
phere often charged with clouds, Jupiter is belted round 
with them ; from which may be inferred the existence of 
an atmosphere and of water. An atmosphere must neces- 
sarily give rise to currents of wind. From the vast size 
of Jupiter, and the velocity with which his surface moves 
round at the equator, there must likewise be trade-winds 
of much greater force than our owm. One effect of those 
stormy trades would be to give a streaky character to the 
clouds encircling tropical districts — a theory with which 
the appearance of Jupiter's famous belts exactly corre- 
sponds. The main divisions of the surface into land and 
water can be distinguished and mapped out in Mars, 
while chains of mountains are to be descried in Mercury 
and Venus. 

Analogy carries the argument still further. Planets, 
like our Earth, have their moons, whose number and size 
are in some degree proportionate to the distance of the 
planet from the Sun, or, in other words, to the urgency 
with which supplemental " lamps " are needed. Mercury 
and Venus, lying near the Sun, bask in his light, and have 
no proper satellites, although they must act as moons to 
each other. Our Earth has one. Mars, though lying 
more remote from the Sun than we are, has none. Jupi- 
ter, five times more distant from the Sun than our Earth, 
has four satellites disposed with such careful design that 
some of them are always shining. Farther off, in the 
darker regions of the solar system, Saturn's night is 



Sun and Moon, 41 

broken by the light of eight satellites, some of which are 
always full, as well as by his wonderful luminous " ring " ; 
while Uranus has not fewer than four moons, and proba- 
bly may have more over which distance has hitherto cast 
obscurity. As regards Neptune, his enormous distance 
must continue to make the number of his satellites a 
question of extreme difficulty. One, however, has already 
been discovered, and improved telescopes will probably 
reveal more. As corroborative evidence I need do no 
more in this place than merely allude to the recent results 
of spectrum analysis, or the chemical examination of the 
light itself which they transmit ; from which it appears 
that not only the Sun and planets, but even the stars, act- 
ually contain substances with which we are familiar here 
on Earth. 

That those planetary globes, with their continents and 
oceans so analogous to our own in the plan of their physi- 
cal conditions and so vastly surpassing them in extent of 
surface, should be void and barren and destitute of life in 
every form, seems scarcely consistent with our knowledge 
of the ways of the Creator. All over our globe, except, 
perhaps, among the polar snows or in the desert, we see 
life abounding. Space is ever}'^vhere economized by Na- 
ture, and thriftily allotted out to living creatures. To pro- 
mote the spread of life the most dissimilar spots have in- 
habitants expressly constructed for them, so that every 
place may become a home in which something living may 
exist. The abundance of Nature — the profusion of life — 
is proverbial, and forces itself on our notice in every di- 
rection. Is it likely that those vast orbs — with masses 
and densities so wonderfully modified and adjusted in ac- 
cordance with what we perceive to be the requirements of 
living creatures — with years and months, days and nights, 
seasons and climates — with atmospheres and twilights, 
trade-winds and currents — with clouds and rains, con- 
tinents and seas, mountains and polar snows — with sun, 



42 Sun and Moon, 

moon, and stars, and, in short, with all the elements that 
make up the conditions of a habitable globe — is it likely 
that those glorious works of the Creator should have been 
formed to lie waste, sterile, and unprofitable ? Or even if 
we could bring ourselves to think that those masses, 
whose united bulk dwarfs our Earth to insignificance, had 
been created solely as make-weights to keep this little 
atom of Earth in its place, why should they have been 
provided with a complicated system of moons revolving 
round them to give them auxiliary light ? The Sun's light 
they share in common with ourselves ; but for what con- 
ceivable purpose should deserts void of life have been 
supplied with those wonderful lamps to light them up in 
the absence of the Sun ? Our own Moon, we know, was 
made " to rule the night," to give light to something that 
could profit by it j has the same beautiful machinery 
been repeated, and even more extensively than here, for 
the sake of globes where nothing living exists to which it 
can be of use ? Not less wonderful, and for a purpose not 
less obvious, is the way in which the size and density of 
the different planets have been modified to harmonize with 
the probable strength and power of objects existing upon 
them. The very conditions that would be incompatible 
with our organization may, from the adjustments of crea- 
tive wisdom, be exactly suited to the beings called on to 
inhabit them. All life, even if it be essentially the same 
in principle, may not everywhere assume the same phase 
of outward existence, nor need we attempt to set limits in 
this respect to the Lord of Life. The spaces lie there 
furnished and ready — the Word only was required to 
people them with a life which may be different, but which, 
so far as we can understand the conditions, need not be 
very different, from life such as we see existing around us. 
Reflection upon these and other points seems to reverse 
the question with which we set out, and to make the dif- 
ficulty consist in believing, not that life in some shape ex- 



Sun and Moon. 43 

ists upon our feilow-planets, but that they can be destitute 
of it. Such inquiries have an interest which goes beyond 
their mere astronomical import, for they touch our con- 
ceptions of God's greatness. Is there any one who does 
not long to be able reasonably to cherish the thought that, 
far away from this tiny speck of Earth, in the remote 
realms of space, we behold worlds inhabited by beings 
who, it may be, are privileged like ourselves to know their 
Creator, and to* bless, praise, and magnify Him for ever ? 

We turn toward our nearest neighbor in the solar sys- 
tem with a sentiment bordering on familiar affection. AVe 
speak of it emphatically as " our Moon." The Sun we 
share with other planets, but this beauteous orb belongs 
exclusively to ourselves. Although we transmit to each 
other but little warmth, we yet cheer up the darkness of 
each other's nights by liberally reflecting the rays which 
each receives from the Sun. Like loyal friends we give 
and we take to our mutual advantage ; and, as the Earth 
is the larger reflecting body of the two, we repay with in- 
terest the light we borrow. To young and old the Moon 
is ever interesting and beautiful. The infant questions it 
with delighted eye, and stretches out its tiny arms to play 
with or to catch it. From moonland have descended 
some of the mysterious legends of childhood. The boy 
soon learns to recognize "the man in the moon," and the 
familiar face roots itself in his imagination for life. Its 
gentle light is associated with many pleasures. We wel- 
come its first curved streak in the west as a sign that our 
gloomy nights are past ; we watch it to " the full " with 
ever-increasing admiration, and we part from it at last 
with regret and hope. Our very dogs salute it with their 
bark ; a notice they bestow on no other celestial object. 
Floating in the clear sky, or poised among the fleecy, 
tinted clouds, silvering the water or piercing through the 
trees — in every phase and aspect it is beautiful. Like an 
enchanter it casts the charm of picturesqueness over the 



44 "^^^ <^^^ Moon, 

meanest objects, and masses which look hard or ugly in 
the garish light of the Sun mellow into beauty when 
touched by the power of the moonbeam. 

The Moon's journey round our Earth — the lunar month 
— is accomplished in a little more than twenty-nine days 
and a half. When interposed between the Earth and Sun 
she is invisible, because her dark side is turned toward 
us ; but during nearly all the rest of her circuit she re- 
flects a portion of the light received from the Sun, and 
cheers our nights with brightness. The actual amount of 
light thus transmitted is small when compared with that 
which floods in upon us from the Sun, being scarcely 
equivalent to the 300,000th part ; and it has been calcu- 
lated that were the whole heavens covered with full moons, 
it would not equal the light of the Sun. The distance 
from the centre of the Earth to the centre of the Moon is 
238,793 miles. An express train would easily clear the 
distance between the two globes in 300 days. 

Unlike the active Earth, which rotates on its axis every 
twenty-four hours, the Moon turns herself round only once 
in twenty-seven days seven hours and forty-four minutes. 
Every body must have observed that the well-known feat- 
ures of " the man in the moon " never change ; in other 
words, the. same hemisphere of our satellite is always pre- 
sented toward us. That this peculiarity is the result of 
the coincidence in point of time which exists between her 
axial rotation — constituting her day — and her orbital ro- 
tation round the Earth, which constitutes our month, may 
be easily illustrated by experiment. Thus, if a person 
move slowly round a circular table, keeping his face, 
which we may suppose to represent the Moon, always di- 
rected toward the centre of the table, where we may sup- 
pose the Earth to be placed, he will find that in making 
one complete circle his face has rotated or turned round 
once also. Such is precisely the relation between Earth 
and Moon during the course of the month, and thus it 



Sun and Moon, 45 

may be easily understood why we always see the same 
side of the Moon, notwithstanding her rotation. 

As the Moon revolves only once on her axis in the 
course of a month, it follows that during half of that time 
each hemisphere is turned toward the Sun, and during 
the other half it is turned away from it : — the whole 
period forming one long day and one long night. The 
Lunarians, therefore, if any exist, must be subject to a 
very singular climate. During their long "half-month" 
day the surface must be scorched by a Sun whose fierce- 
ness is tempered by no atmosphere ; and this must be 
succeeded by a " half-month " night, in which the Sun is 
altogether absent, and the darkness is broken only by star- 
light. During the day the temperature will far transcend 
the hottest tropical climate, while in the night it will sink 
far below the greatest cold of the arctic regions. 

He who once fairly surveys the Moon through a good 
telescope will never afterward forget its aspect. It 
charms and fascinates the eye, and, though resembling so 
many other things, it is yet always so specially its own in- 
dividual self. A good pictorial chart gives an idea which 
. wonderfully approaches Nature, and it is as easy to follow 
upon it the various localities in the Moon, as it is to follow 
upon a map the various features of the land. If we look 
at the full Moon we take, as it were, a bird's-eye view from 
a great height, which levels inequalities. Its disk presents 
a smiling, brilliant yet softly lighted surface — a sunny 
land, from which all gloom is banished. But both before 
and after the full Moon, when we see its features more in 
profile, a different tale is told. Here and there softly 
shaded plains are still to be noticed, but the chief part of 
the surface appears to have been fashioned by the most vio- 
lent volcanic forces. It is scarred and rent, convulsed and 
burnt into an arid, cindery ruin. Serrated craters, some 
more than a hundred miles wide, are thickly dotted about, 
and inclosed within them are levels from whose centre 



46 Sun and Moon, 

cones of igneous origin shoot up. The brightest peaks, 
the darkest precipices, the most jagged ridges crowd this 
rugged picture. To many minds the idea has suggested 
itself that some scathing doom has bUghted the surface 
of our satelHte, for nowhere else can Nature match this 
aspect of desolation. Fancy rather than science has tried 
to deal with such a scene. Some have conjectured that it 
might be an Earth burnt up and destroyed by the out- 
pouring of God's wrath. Others have supposed that it is 
a comparatively recent world — a globe in a state of chaos 
— whose crust has not yet been sufficiently worn down by 
the hand of Time to fit it for the abode of living creatures. 
Destitute of life it certainly appears to be at present, nor 
do its physical conditions seem to fit it for ever becoming 
the abode of that kind of life which we see existing on our 
own globe. Amid these conjectures let us fall back with 
thankfulness upon what is certain. Cosmically consid- 
ered it performs its part in upholding the balance of our 
solar system ; and, in reference to ourselves, we know that 
it was created by Our Father " to rule the night," and in 
other ways to shed blessings on His children. 

Many of the mountains in the Moon have been meas- 
ured by ingenious mathematical processes, and at least 
one has been found to attain a height of 26,691 feet, 
which, though not quite equal to that of our highest Him- 
alayan or Andean peaks, is yet proportionately higher, 
since the Moon's diameter is little more than a fourth of 
that of the Earth. As the rays of the Sun fall obliquely 
upon them they are seen in profile — being bright on the 
side next the Sun, and in dark shadow on the side turned 
away from it. Their peaked and jagged ourline is best 
displayed along the inner margin of the crescent Moon. 
Mountains in the Moon present in miniature an exact 
counterpart of the effects which sunlight produces on the 
mountains of the Earth. In alpine districts the rays are 
first caught by the loftiest peaks, then the side next the 



Sun and Moon. 47 

Sun is brightened, while the side turned away from it still 
remains in shade. Lastly the western slope becomes il- 
luminated, and the eastern in its turn passes into dark- 
ness. In the Moon the mountains may be observed to 
undergo changes in their lighting up which are precisely 
of the same nature. 

From the absence of those effects that would necessa- 
rily result from the refraction of light, astronomers con- 
clude either that the Moon has no atmosphere, or that, if 
it exist, it must be as attenuated as the air in the vacuum 
of an air-pump. For the same and for other reasons it is 
also to be inferred that water is equally wanting. During 
the long moon-day of half a month, the Sun's rays beat 
fiercely upon its surface, and would certainly send up 
clouds of vapor if any water existed for them to act upon. 
The result would be to cover the Moon with a nebulous 
screen impenetrable to vision, — a condition which is 
plainly inconsistent with the fact that whenever the Earth's 
atmosphere is clear, we always see the Moon with the^ 
same unvarying brightness. According to Dr. Lardner, 
however, there might possibly be ice, for " in the absence 
of an atmosphere, the temperature must necessarily be 
not only far below the point of congelation of water, but 
even that of most other fluids," and he points to the fact 
that, even under the burning Sun of the tropics, the rare- 
fied condition of the atmosphere existing at a height of 
16,000 feet upon the Andes produces a cold which con- 
verts all vapor into snow and ice. On the other hand, it 
seems clear that, if ice existed in the Moon, some amount 
of vapor could hardly fail to be produced by the long- 
continued action of the Sun, and we know that in the 
tropics clouds hang round even the highest peaks. If 
there were a cloud even 200 yards in extent, it w^ould be 
visible to us by telescope. Thus all arguments tend to 
prove that the Moon is destitute of water. 

The Earth and our satellite, as has been said, mutually 



48 Sun and Moon, 

interchange their good offices, and shine upon each other 
as moons. A curious illustration of this is seen when the 
dim outline of the rest of the Moon fills up the hollow of 
the bright crescent, or when, in popular phrase, " the 
young Moon has the old one in her arms." We all know 
it is the reflected rays of the Sun which makes the cres- 
cent visible, but how is it that we are able to see the rest 
of the Moon upon which the Sun is not shining ? It is by 
what is termed " earth-shine," or by means of those rays 
which in our quality of moon we send across to her. The 
" earth-shine " on the Moon is pale and shadowy, but we 
must recollect that the rays which bring it to us have 
traveled many a weary mile. They sprang originally 
from the fountain of the Sun, and had to speed across 
some 92 millions of miles before they reached our shores. 
They were then the young and joyous rays that dazzled 
our eyes by their brightness. The Earth next caught 
them up, and cast them, softened into mild moonlight, 
across the 238,000 miles of space that separates us from 
our satellite. And lastly, these enfeebled remnants of 
light, after having brightened up Luna's rugged surface, 
were sent back once more across the wide gulf to the 
Earth, bringing with them to our eyes the dim image of 
the Moon they had left behind. 

Some may be inclined to ask, — How happens it that 
this earth-shine is not seen at other phases of the Moon ? 
It arises from the circumstance that the crescent Moon 
always coincides with the period when our fully illumined 
disk is turned toward it. We are then at the " full." 
Our lamp-power, therefore, is at its highest, and is strong 
enough to produce the earth-shine. But when the Moon 
is about half full, not only is our lamp-power diminished 
from our " phase " in relation to the Moon having been 
changed, but the more extensive illumination of the Moon 
herself by the direct rays of the Sun obscures and, as it 
were, " puts out " the more feeble earth-shine that was 
previously visible. 



Sun and Moon, 49 

From the comparative nearness of the Moon, and the 
perfection gradually imparted to optical instruments, many- 
have been bold enough to anticipate that we shall some 
day see in it the familiar objects of every-day life, or even 
the Lunarians themselves, if any do exist. This rather 
unreasonable expectation has been from time to time en- 
couraged by premature announcements. Thus, on one 
occasion, it was given out that a town had been plainly 
distinguished in the Moon ; on another, that a fortifica- 
tion with roads and canals were equally discernible. But 
these supposed discoveries have never received subse- 
quent confirmation. On the contrary, Madler, of Berlin, 
has pointed .out that it is in the highest degree improbable 
we shall ever be able to observe objects so small as the 
human figure. The extreme distance, he remarks, at 
which a man is visible to the unassisted eye is a German 
league. Now, to bring an object in the Moon to that 
apparent distance would require a magnifying power of 
51,000, while with all our modern skill in instrument- 
making, we do not as yet possess any power which mag- 
nifies more than 6000 times. 

Scripture as well as experience and common sense tells 
us that the Moon was made " to rule the night ; " but some 
have objected to the obvious meaning of the expression, 
if not to the perfection of the work itself, on the ground 
that the " lamp " is only occasionally lighted up. The 
observations of Laplace certainly sanctioned the opinion 
that the Moon might possibly have been placed in the 
heavens in such a position as to be always " full " to us ; 
but this advantage could only have been purchased at the 
cost of the loss of light that would have arisen from in- 
creased distance. As things are actually regulated, more 
or less moonlight brightens our Earth on most nights of 
the year, and few months pass over without our practi- 
cally experiencing the advantage of the light which has 

been placed by Our Father in the heavens for our use. 
4 



50 Sun and Moon, 

In arctic regions the Moon and the stars alone break 
through the darkness of the long winter's night, and all 
who have read the story of polar voyages will recollect 
the thankfulness with which moonlight is welcomed and 
appreciated. The Arab of the desert steers on emer- 
gency by the light and position of the Moon. Over the 
pathless seas the Moon is the navigator's friend and coun- 
sellor. It places in his hand a certain scale for measuring 
the longitude and fixing the spot where the ship may be. 
When we think of the fleets of noble vessels, the wealth 
of merchandise, and the thousands of lives whose safety 
is dependent on its teachings, we may form some estimate 
of the value of this blessing. " Without the Moon's aid," 
an astronomer observes, " our ships, instead of fearlessly 
traversing the ocean from pole to pole, would probably 
even now be incapable of performing long voyages, and 
would content themselves with exchanging commodities 
and intelligence between well-known and neighboring 
shores." 

Of old the Moon played a more important part than 
she now does in the notation of time ; but, among many 
Eastern peoples, the Moon still indicates the seasons, 
while its different phases serve as an almanac to mark 
particular days. Among the Jews the new Moon was as- 
sociated with certain religious ceremonies, and men were 
stationed on the hill-tops to give the earliest notice of its 
approach. Some Orientals are also accustomed to indi- 
cate the seasonal stages of vegetable life by the epithets 
they apply to the Moon : — thus there is the rice-moon, 
the wild-strawberry moon, the leaf-falling moon, and there 
is likewise an ice-moon. We have, at least, our glorious 
Harvest-moon. Nor is the Moon unrecognized in our 
Church festivals ; for Easter is always celebrated on the 
Sunday following the first full Moon which happens on or 
after thjs 21st March, or vernal equinox. 

The Heavens declare the glory of God ; and the firmament showeth His 
handiwork. — Ps. xix. 




THE STARS OF HEAVEN. 

O ye Stars of Hewven^ bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and magnijy 

Him for e<ver. 

E who turns his thoughts starward will speedily 
find his power of distinct conception strained to 
its utmost effort ; for as the distances, magni- 
tudes, and movements with which we are familiar upon 
Earth are dwarfed by those of the Solar system, so do the 
latter in their turn shrink into insignificance when com- 
pared to the distances, magnitudes, and movements of the 
Stellar Universe. Miles now become useless, and no 
longer speak to us with their old intelligible meaning ; 
and the other familiar aids that helped us on in the com- 
prehension of Solar measurements are scarcely more ser- 
viceable. The locomotive with its 30 miles an hour, the 
cannon-ball with its flight of 500 miles an hour, are all 
too slow to mete out distances such as are now to occupy 
us. Nothing but light itself, cleaving through space with 
a velocity of 192,000 miles a second — or, according to 
Foucault's latest estimate, 186,000 miles a second — can 
supply us with a standard capable of representing the re- 
moteness of the more distant, visible stars. 

In the immensity of the plans and natures revealed by 
Astronomy we miss those homely illustrations of provi- 
dential design which are so often impressed upon us in 
our daily experience among the familiar objects around 
us. But, on the other hand, we behold in their mightiest 
development the laws governing that Universe of worlds 
which peoples the realms of space, and among which our 



52 The Stars of Heaven, 

spot of Earth occupies so humble a position. In presence 
of this grand view the physical details of our little globe 
seem almost too petty to be remembered. The Omnipo- 
tence and Infinity of God confront us with all the vivid- 
ness which our finite understanding can conceive, and we 
bow our heads in heartfelt adoration. 

By the Word of the Lord were the Heavens made, and all the hosts of 
them by the breath of His mouth. — Ps. xxxiii. 

The " Hosts of Heaven " are truly called innumerable, 
and, as we glance upward on a clear, starry night, the 
twinkling points that meet our gaze in all directions seem 
to defy enumeration. Yet, strange though it may appear, 
the sum of all the stars that can be distinguished by the 
naked eye in both hemispheres under the most favorable 
circumstances does not exceed 6000, and of these consider- 
ably less than a half belongs to our own northern division. 
But, when the telescope is turned toward the sky, stars 
come forth in myriads from the dark depths of the firma- 
ment ; and, as each additional light-grasping power is 
given to the instrument, a new region of the heavens is 
joined on to those that have been already explored \ and 
every new stratum of space thus added is found to be 
studded with stars in an ever-increasing ratio. It is diffi- 
cult to estimate the number which may thus be brought 
into view, but astronomers compute it to be not less than 
100 rhillions. To a superficial observer the stars seem 
scattered about as if by chance, but a more careful in- 
spection reveals that some fixed law of distribution, which 
we cannot as yet unravel, reigns supreme among them. 
" Suppose," says Dr. Nichol, " a number of peas thrown 
at random on a chess-board, what would you expect ? 
Certainly that they should be found occupying irregular 
or random positions ; and if, contrary., to this, in far more 
than average numbers, arranged by twos upon each square, 
it would be a most natural inference that here there is no 



The Stars of Heaven. 53 

random scattering^ Appearances, indeed, have convinced 
some most eminent astronomers that our own solar sys- 
tem — in its entirety — has been planted in the midst of 
a cluster of stars, of which the exterior rim is composed 
by the encircling stellar hoop of the Milky Way. Lying 
beyond the Milky Way are other clusters, which may rep- 
resent similar systems, but which, at all events, display a 
certain, recognizable, general structure ; and the same may 
be said of the still more remote nebulae, whenever it has 
been possible by the aid of the telescope to resolve them 
with any degree of fair distinctness into their proper forms. 
In picturing the distant regions of space Dr. Nichol 
observes : " Mystery, indeed, heavy, almost oppressive, 
hangs over all the perspective ; but the shapes strewn 
through that bewildering territory have nothing in com- 
mon with the fantastic creations of a dream. It is the 
essence of these nebulae that they are not formless, but, 
on the contrary, impressed indelibly by system on the 
grandest scale ; clearly as a leaf they have an organism \ 
something has seized on their enormous volumes, and 
molded them into a wonderful order." Thus every thing 
bears the mark of order impressed upon it by the Al- 
mighty hand. That noble gift of God to man — the tel- 
escope — has magnified Him by driving away every sem- 
blance of chance from the firmament, and by exhibiting 
in its place design and established law. Up there as 
down here the idea of irregularity or chance is but the 
suggestion of our own ignorance. How far into space 
our view has been carried by the power of the telescope 
we shall immediately endeavor to point out. 

Certain groups of stars, named Binary and Multiple, 
are interesting to us in many respects, and in none more 
so than from their exhibiting the harmony and order amid 
which they exist. The telescope reveals to us that two or 
more stars are sometimes linked together in the relation 
of sun and planet, or rather as coordinate suns revolving 



54 The Stars of Heaven, 

round each other, or round a common centre. These 
Binary stars display the evidence of design and power as 
convincingly as is done by the members of the solar sys- 
tem. The same law of gravity with which we are so fa- 
miliar on Earth, is proved to be in full operation among 
them, and their orbital revolutions in obedience to it have, 
in some instances, been observed and calculated upon the 
same principles as those by which the movements of the 
planets are determined. With more perfect instruments 
and a sufficient allowance of time for the collection of 
data, their movements may, at some future day, be chron- 
icled with as much accuracy as the other sidereal events 
of the almanac. Yet so well are the orbital movements 
of some stars understood, even now, that a " perturba- 
tion " or deviation from the usual path has been detected 
in the bright Sirius, of the same nature as happened jn 
the famous case of Uranus ; and calculations indicating 
the position in which the " perturbator " would be found 
were made on the same principle as those which led to 
the discovery of the planet Neptune. Nay more — the 
disturbing mass which caused the star to stagger in its 
path has been seen through an American telescope, in the 
very quarter to which the finger of science had already 
pointed, and the discovery has since then been amply con- 
firmed. We shall immediately have to consider the dis- 
tance of the field in which this scrutiny was held. " When 
a branch of science," says Guillemin, " scarcely known 
two centuries ago, and cultivated steadily for less than a 
hundred years, arrives at such results, what may we not 
hope for in the future progress of sidereal astronomy ? " 

Binary, and Multiple stars — being suns — are probably 
attended by their planetary systems, giving rise to cos- 
mical conditions of extreme interest. The inhabitants of 
those earths — if there be any — will frequently see two 
suns, or two sunrises and sunsets on the same day. Oc- 
casionally there will be no night, from the continuance of 



The Stars of Heaven, 55 

one of the suns above the horizon ; or one sun may be 
rising while another is setting. It often happens too that 
the stars are of different colors, from which the most sin- 
gular and beautiful appearances will arise. " It may be 
easier suggested in words," says Sir John Herschel, " than 
conceived in imagination what a variety of illumination 
two stars, a red and a green, or a yellow and blue one, 
must afford a planet circulating round either, and what 
charming contrasts and grateful vicissitudes — a red and 
a green day, for instance, alternating with a white one and 
with darkness — must arise from the presence or absence 
of one or other or both, from the horizon." 

The most striking wonders of the Firmament are com- 
prised in the distances, magnitudes, and velocities of the 
stars, and it may well excite both our astonishment and 
our gratitude that we, the humble dwellers upon an atom 
of earth, should be privileged to gauge them with even 
approximative accuracy. Yet the principle on which as- 
tronomers have succeeded in measuring the distance of a 
few of the nearest stars is none other than that by which 
the surveyor maps out an estate or a county. It is an 
ordinary problem of triangulation. There is no doubt as 
to the truth of the principle employed, and there is no 
mystery in the process — the difficulty lies in the inevita- 
ble imperfection of the instruments with which the neces- 
sary measurements must be made. But every new im- 
provement in the measuring power of instruments cancels 
a certain amount of previous error ; and even now there 
is among astronomers — working separately and inde- 
pendently — so wonderful an agreement in regard to the 
vast distances involved, that it is impossible to suppose 
either that such coincidence is accidental, or that there 
can be any very material amount of error in the estimates 
thus formed. 

Has my reader ever heard of the parallax of the stars ? 
The most unlearned need not be dismayed at the scien- 



56 The Stars of Heaven, 

tific look of the expression, for the principle involved in 
it is in reality most easy to understand. It will, indeed, 
largely repay a few minutes of attention, for it is the lad- 
der by which we shall best climb to a clear conception of 
those truths of the stellar universe which illustrate so 
grandly the Power of the Creator. And even where the 
conclusions to which it leads baffle the efforts of our finite 
faculties, the definite basis on which they rest will at least 
banish every idea of guess-work from our thoughts. 

It is easy to understand that parallax movement is that 
appareiit shifting of bodies which arises from changing our 
own position. We cannot stir a step without producing 
examples of it. If we pace up and down the street oppo- 
site to any object on the other side — as a door or a lamp- 
post — the angular direction or parallax of the object 
changes at every moment. If we sail down a river and 
fix our eyes on some church-spire at a distance from its 
bank, we find that the direction in which we see it is al- 
ways altering. At first the spire appears in advance of 
us, then on our sides, and lastly it lies behind. If instead 
of limiting our attention to one object we look at several 
that can be easily observed together, we find that as we 
move they move, or rather seem to move, and the angles 
formed by their lines of direction are displaced relatively 
to each other and to us. One cannot look out of a rail- 
way carriage without being amused by the way in which 
objects seem to move about. Trees, houses, and churches 
are never for a moment at rest. Things that are in line 
"open out," as sailors would say; near objects are mov- 
ing backward, the more distant are moving forward. In 
this apparent change of position we have an example of 
parallax movement. In all these cases the line from 
which our observations are made is the " base ; " and if 
the angle subtended by the objects from the extremities 
of this base be given, the distance may be easily calcu- 
lated. 



The Stars of Heaven, 57 

In all instances of this parallax shifting it must have 
been remarked that the effect of a change of our position 
in altering the direction of objects is greater when they 
are near than when they are distant. A few paces will 
sensibly alter the angular position or direction of the door 
or lamp-post on the opposite side of the street. But if 
we look at a church some miles off, or at ships anchored 
in the offing, w^e find that we require to move much more 
than a few paces — in other words, we require to increase 
considerably the length of the base — before we can make 
any sensible change in the angle or direction in which we 
see them. In proportion, therefore, as the distance of 
objects increases, so must we lengthen out the base from 
which we survey them in order to obtain parallax displace- 
ment. It follows, too, that if in observations taken from 
a short base line objects appear to have changed much, 
we may infer that they are near ; but, if the base require 
to be long in order to produce an effect, we may equally 
infer that they are distant. 

Such is the plain and certain principle which astrono- 
mers applied to measure the distance of the stars ; but 
the great difficulty was to find a base line long enough to 
give parallax displacement to objects so remote. Stations 
in this country were obviously too near for such a purpose. 
Simultaneous observations were therefore made from 
Greenwich and the Cape of Good Hope, — the distance 
between the two stations of course representing the 
" base," — and from these the most interesting and im- 
portant results were obtained. For it was found that, 
though a distinct parallax movement could be traced in 
the planets, none whatever could be detected in the stars. 
And it followed, therefore, that while the planets were 
comparatively near, the distance of the stars was such 
that a still longer base was needed to bring them within 
the grasp of parallax. 

The line from Greenwich to the Cape having failed, 



58 The Stars of Heaven, 

astronomers next had recourse to the base represented by 
the diameter of the Earth's orbit. As our globe revolves 
annually round the Sun, it is obvious that it must oc- 
cupy a very different position in space at one period of 
the year from what it does at another. On the ist Jan- 
uary it is at one extremity of its ellipse, on the ist July it 
is at the point exactly opposite, and the length of a line 
drawn from the one station to the other is 190,600,000 
miles. Could it be doubted that a base line' was at last 
obtained long enough to insure a parallax for any con- 
ceivable distance ? 

It may well be imagined with what astonishment the 
fact broke upon astronomers that, even from this enormous 
base, the keenest scrutiny could not detect the slightest 
displacement among the stars ! Not one apparently 
changed its position. The result perplexed philosophers, 
for it forced the conclusion upon them either that the Co- 
pernican doctrine of the Earth's orbital movement round 
the Sun was an error altogether, or else — what seemed 
almost as difficult to believe — that the base line yielded 
by the Earth's orbital diameter was but an inappreciable 
point in relation to the inconceivable distance of the stars. 
For generations, therefore, " to discover the parallax of 
the stars " was one of the grand astronomical problems ; 
but while the chief observers strove earnestly for the prize, 
the best among them failed to carry it away. The triumph 
was reserved for our own time. 

In truth, however, this want of success in demonstrat- 
ing the parallax of the stars was no reproach to the older 
astronomers, for it depended on causes over which they 
had no control. To accomplish this grand object instru- 
ments of great delicacy were essential ; and instruments 
have only been brought to the requisite degree of perfec- 
tion within the last few years. But, be it remarked, what 
those old philosophers could not register with the hand 
they yet saw clearly with the head ; and, therefore, with 



The Stars of Heaven, 59 

perfect faith in the truth of the Copernican theory of the 
world's movement in space and in the ultimate solvability 
of the problem, they never lost heart, nor ceased to strive 
for its accomplishment. At length in 1839 the long- 
looked-for discovery was made almost simultaneously by 
two observers of equal merit ; — the British astronomer, 
Henderson, at the Cape, having succeeded in measuring 
the parallax of a star known as a Centauri, while Bessel 
had already been equally fortunate in regard to 61 Cygni. 
It is pleasing to think that these astronomical triumphs, 
after being scrutinized and tested in almost every great 
Observatory possessed of instruments sufficiently fine for 
the purpose, have stood their ground and been substan- 
tially confirmed. 

The difficulty of the feat becomes at once obvious when 
we consider the small sum of the stellar displacement ob- 
tained, which, even in the case where it was greatest, did 
not quite amount to one second of a degree. But the 
conclusion that was to be drawn even from so inconsider- 
able a parallax was astounding ; for, when the necessary 
allowances had been made, it was proved that the distance 
of the nearest of those stars from the Earth was nearly 
20 billions of miles. How can we get into our minds 
some idea of so great a distance ? The standard of miles 
seems utterly vague and profitless. Do we succeed better 
when we are assured that it is equal to 206,000 times 
the space separating our planet from the Sun ; or 211,330 
radii of the Earth's orbit ; or that a ray of light darted 
from its surface could not reach our eye under three 
years and seven months, though it traveled wdth its usual 
speed of 192,600 miles a second ? " Such then," says 
Sir John Herschel, "is the length of the sounding-line 
with which we first touch bottom in the attempt to fathom 
the great abyss of the sidereal Heavens." 

" First touch bottom ! " Let us pause, and take breath. 
Let us try soberly to realize the fact that this flight, 



6o The Stars of Heave7i, 

through which our imagination has carried us on the wings 
of a ray of light, has landed us only at the threshold of 
the starry universe. So far as is yet known this famous 
star of the Centaur is our nearest neighbor. Of the thou- 
ands of others whose parallax astronomers have tried to 
measure, there are not more than a dozen where it has 
been detected, and all of them lie at various distances be- 
yond. The well-known Sirius — the very star whose per- 
turbations, as we have seen, have already been calculated 
and accounted for by visible demonstration — which from 
being the brightest among stars was conjectured to be also 
the nearest, has been proved by parallax measurement to 
be at least six times the distance of a Centauri ; from 
which it follows, that every ray of that dazzling orb that 
now meets our eye set out on its journey toward us some 
twenty-two years ago. One of the most distant stars that 
has as yet been gauged is the beauteous Capella. In ex- 
pressing its enormous distance we may discard all other 
standards of measurement save that which light supplies ; 
and even a ray of light, with its speed of 192,000 miles 
each second, would take 72 years to reach our Earth. As 
for stars placed at greater distances the base line of the 
Earth's orbit, seconded by the most perfect modern instru- 
ments of measurement, fails as yet to demonstrate with 
reliable accuracy any sensible amount of parallax. In 
relation to those distant orbs, a base line of 190,600,000 
miles shrinks into a mere point. 

The belt of measurable parallax, therefore, proves to be 
but a comparatively shallow layer of the firmament. All 
" the Hosts of the stars " lie farther off in regions which 
no parallax can reach. A longer base line than 200 mill- 
ions of miles would be needed to continue the survey, 
and unfortunately the resources of Astronomy do not as 
yet supply any that are available. We say " as yet," for 
it is not impossible that a longer base may at some dis- 
tant future day be found, if, as is almost certain, our Sun 



The Stars of Heaven, 6i 

itself is moving in an immense orbit round something in 
space, and carrying along with it the whole solar system. 
The diameter of the Sun's orbit may then afford a base 
line of immensity sufficient to conquer the difficulties of 
distant stellar parallax. Of the interval which would 
necessarily elapse between the observations made on such 
a base no one can now imagine the duration. 

At that depth in the firmament, therefore, where Ca- 
pella lies — representing a space to pass through which 
light would require 72 years — we come to the limit of 
parallax. With it ends the means which enable star- 
measurements to be placed on a reliable basis, and all 
beyond is subject to the greatest uncertainty. Are, then, 
our estimates of the distances of stars sunk farther away 
in space than Capella to be absolute guess-work ? By no 
means, thought the illustrious Sir W. Herschel, for when 
parallax can plumb no longer, light still affords a line 
which measures immensity with at least a rough approx- 
imation. It is true that this method sets out with the 
hardy assumption that the size and illumination of the 
different stars are the same ; whereas we know with cer- 
tainty that both are subject, like the planets, to much 
variation. Nevertheless it may, perhaps, be assumed 
wdth considerable probability, that in the multitude of 
stars examined there must at least be some to which such 
a method will apply, and which therefore may serve, in 
the absence of all other means, as a rough measure of the 
depths of space beyond Capella to which the eye of man 
can penetrate. All are familiar with the fact that light 
diminishes as we recede from it, in proportion as the 
square of the distance increases. If, for example, one 
luminous body be twice as far removed as another equally 
luminous body, it will give four times less light ; if it be 
ten times as far off, it will give a hundred times less light, 
and so on in proportion. Now it has just been shown 
that the distance of a Centauri, an average star of the 



62 The Stars of Heaven. 

I St magnitude, is in round numbers 20 billions of miles, 
while it shines with an amount of brightness which, by 
means of an instrument called a photometer, can be 
measured, and adopted as a standard from which to set 
out. A star of the 6th magnitude, just visible to the 
naked eye, is found to have a light 100 times less bright 
than a Centauri ; and, therefore, it must be ten times 
more distant, supposing the luminous surface to be the 
same in both. We have now got a second standard of 
measurement, according to which it may be assumed that 
a star having a brightness which we can just discern is 
200 billions of miles distant. Here we are, for a moment, 
necessarily brought to a stop, for our unaided sight is 
unable to force its way farther into space ; and here, 
therefore, our survey must have come to an end but for 
that wonderful " tube," by means of which the regions 
lying beyond have been fathomed to an extent that almost 
overwhelms. It fortunately happens that astronomers can 
" scale " a telescope, according to what is termed its 
" space-penetrating " power. When, therefore, it is said 
to have a space-penetrating power of 50, it means that we 
can see with it 50 times farther than with the naked eye — 
50 times as far, therefore, as the distance lying between 
us and the star of the 6th magnitude which has just been 
measured. Sir W. Herschel, whose name will ever be 
remembered in connection with this subject, penetrated 
into space 75 times farther than the distance which sep- 
arates us from a star of the 6th magnitude, by which he 
brought stars thus deeply sunk in space to shine -with a 
brightness equal to stars of that class. Now, what was 
the stupendous import thereby implied ? A star of the 
6th magnitude is at least 10 times more distant than a 
Centauri, its distance, therefore, is 200 billions of miles ; 
and the star 75 times more distant than the star of the 
6th magnitude must have a distance of not less than 
15,000 billions of miles ! How is this distance to be ex- 



The Stars of Heaven, 63 

pressed by an intelligible standard? It is equal io 170 
million times the distance of the Sun from the Earth — 
the unit being 92 millions of miles. Told off by terres- 
trial standards these figures sound vaguely and seem to 
stupefy the ear, nor indeed can any other measure than 
light rise to the level of such distances. It is astounding 
to think that the few straggling rays of light which at 
length found rest in Herschel's eye might have left their 
native sun 2656 years ago, although they had been travel- 
ing at the rate of 192,000 miles a second ever since. The 
messenger arrives only now, but he speaks of an old 
event. " It is within the scope of physical possibility," 
says Dr Lardner, " that those stars may have changed 
their conditions of existence, and consequently of appear- 
ance, or even have ceased to exist altogether more than 
2000 years ago, although we actually see them at this mo- 
ment." 

But even those distances, stupendous though they be, 
do not represent the full depth of that fathoming of space 
which has possibly been effected by modern instruments. 
What shall we say of the Nebulae — those " wisps " of 
cloudy light that faintly gleam down upon us through the 
telescope from the remotest corners of the Universe to 
which we can force our vision ? As the more perfect in- 
struments of recent days conquered their secret, one after 
another, and resolved the hazy cloudlets into clusters of 
bright stars, the conclusion naturally arose that, with every 
new increase of penetrating power, we should only behold 
a repetition of the process. There do, however, appear 
to be some Nebulae which cannot be so resolved, and 
which show no indications of condensing into stars ; and 
" spectrum analysis " — that potent discovery of yesterday, 
which is able to extract from a ray of light its history by 
passing it through a prism — comes to the support of the 
telescope by declaring that such distant glimmers are due 
to vast volumes of luminous gaseous matter. But, mak- 



64 The Stars of Heaven. 

ing allowance for these, there still remain many Nebulae 
of true stars — suns like the rest, heat-giving, and light- 
giving, and animated as our little Earth is by the same 
universal principle of gravitation. A certain cluster of 
stars was estimated by Sir W. Herschel to be 700 times 
the distance of a star of the ist magnitude — therefore, 
at least 700 times 19 billions of miles ! But, observes 
Guillemin, " if this cluster were removed to five times its 
actual distance, that is to say to 3500 times the distance 
of Sirius, the large Herschelian telescope of 40-feet focus 
would still show it, but only as an irresolvable Nebula. It 
is, then, extremely probable that, among the many Nebu- 
lae indecomposable into stars, beyond the Milky Way, in 
the depths of the heavens, many are as distant as that of 
which we speak. Doubtless many are more so. Now to 
reach us, light-rays must have left stars situated at such a 
distance more than 700,000 years ago ! " 

On such a subject I prefer to transcribe words recently 
written by an astronomer, and they at least claim our at- 
tention as the latest conjectural opinions of science. That 
such calculations are but the roughest of wide approxima- 
tions — that they are liable to error of a magnitude which 
in any other branch of physics except universe-measure- 
ment would make them utterly valueless, is a point ad- 
mitted by none more readily than by astronomers them- 
selves. Still, after every deduction for probable error has 
been made, more than enough of solid truth remains to 
leave our highest conceptions hopelessly stranded behind, 
and it would even mock our power of belief did not rea- 
son tell us that such conclusions are in perfect accordance 
with the attributes of Omnipotence. When we have 
touched the verge of this uttermost range. Infinity, bound- 
less as ever, still lies beyond. The idea of God extin- 
guishes in our mind every suspicion that there can be any 
limit to space, magnitude, or power, in relation to His 
works. The mighty universe we have been considering 



The Stars of Heaven, . 65 

is but the stepping-stone to what is farther on ; and al- 
though our imagination fails to grasp it, our reason assures 
us that it must be so. There is no such thing as taking 
from or adding to The Illimitable. 

The distance of the stars is likewise impressively brought 
home to us by the impossibility of magnifying them. It is 
easy to magnify terrestrial objects, and even when the tel- 
escope is pointed at the planets, as Venus or Jupiter, they 
can be made to look bigger than the full Moon. But with 
regard to the stars the telescope fails to increase their size, 
for they are absolutely " unmagnifiable." Viewed by the 
highest powers they still remain mere specks of light ; and, 
although their comparative brightness is increased, no one 
star is really made larger than another. When, therefore, 
the " magnitude " of a star is mentioned it refers to its 
brightness, and not to the size of its nucleus. As the tele- 
scope cuts off the external rays, its effect, indeed, is rather 
to diminish than enlarge, and Herschel used to affirm that 
the more he magnified the more the nucleus appeared to 
shrink to a point. But as the faithful telescope, by virtue 
of its construction, cannot help magnifying the image of 
the star presented to it, and yet fails to give it any appre- 
ciable size, we are driven to infer that even the nearest 
stars are so remote that their apparent magnitude is too 
minute to be perceived by the eye, though magnified, as 
was done by Sir W. Herschel, six thousand times. 

This result appears all the more astonishing when we 
consider the vast magnitude which the stars must really 
possess. As they do not form any distinguishable disk, it 
is of course impossible to calculate their size from their 
known distance and apparent diameter, as may be done in 
the case of the Moon ; but astronomers possess other 
means by which their magnitude may be at least roughly 
estimated. It has been already mentioned that, as we 
recede from a luminous surface, the quantity of light re- 
ceived from it diminishes as the square of the distance in- 
5 



66 The Stars of Heaven, 

creases. By applying this principle, the Sun furnishes us 
with a means of measuring the magnitude of stars, always 
assuming, as may be done when the trial is extended over 
a great number, that the average intensity of the luminous 
surface is nearly the same in both. We know that the 
Sun, being of a known size and at a known distance, gives 
a certain amount of light as determined by the photome- 
ter. Supposing that the Sun were to be moved away from 
us in the direction of a Centauri, his light would diminish 
in the proportion in which the square of the distance in- 
creased ; and, accordingly, before he had got much more 
than half way, he would have dwindled to the size of a 
Centauri. If the Sun were to be farther removed, his 
brightness would go on diminishing until at the distance 
of a Centauri — 19 billions of miles — he would shine as 
a star of the 2d magnitude, or like the Pole-star. Thus 
it appears, that in order to enable the Sun to shine with a 
light equal to that of a Centauri at the same distance as 
that star, he would require to be twice his actual size ; 
and, therefore, the magnitude of a Centauri may be 
roughly estimated as double that of our Sun. 

In contemplating " the Stars of Heaven " by the aids 
which Astronomy holds out to us, our thoughts are carried 
away from the small things of this Earth, and, borne on- 
ward by the faculties bestowed on us by God, we reach 
our highest practical perceptions of His Power as Creator 
and Ruler of the Universe. We cannot, it is true, com- 
prehend The Infinite, but Astronomy stations us nearer 
to its frontier than any other science, and we are only 
stopped in our conceptions by that barrier which subdues 
all human intellect, and beyond which it is not intended 
that we should pass. 

Not less marvelous are the stars in their velocities. 
We speak of them as the " fixed " stars, and so they are 
to us for all practical purposes ; yet some, if not all, have 
a movement through space. Binary stars, as we have 



The Stars of Heaven. 67 

seen, circulate in orbits round each other, or round a com- 
mon centre, with a regularity and speed which in some in- 
stances has been calculated. The star 6 1 Cygni — the 
same whose parallax has been measured — rushes through 
space with the enormous velocity of 177,000 miles an 
hour ; while Mercury, the swiftest of our planets, does not 
exceed 100,000 miles in the same time. A star in the con- 
stellation of Ophiuchus, and another in the Scorpion, are 
moving on so rapidly as to leave neighboring stars behind 
them. There is a triple star in Cassiopeia journeying 
through the heavens at the rate of 125,000 miles an hour. 
Arcturus is the most rapid star-traveler yet discovered, 
moving onward at a pace equal to 54 miles per second, or 
three times faster than our Earth in its orbit. Thus every 
thing connected with the stars — distance, magnitude, and 
motion — is equally gigantic and marvelous in its scale. 

Having glanced at the distances, magnitudes, and veloc- 
ities of stars, let us pause for a moment to consider their 
number and the vast space they must necessarily occupy 
in the domain of creation. In an area of the Milky Way 
not exceeding one tenth part of the moon's disk Herschel 
computed that there were at least 20,000 stars, and by the 
most moderate estimate the number of stars that can be 
counted in the firmament by telescopic aid does not fall 
short of 100 millions ! Clusters and Nebulae that have 
not yet been resolved lie beyond. There is little doubt 
that most of those twinkling points are suns dispensing 
light and heat to earths or planets like our own ; and, in- 
deed, no bodies shining by reflected light would be visible 
at such enormous distances. From the superior magni- 
tude of those stars that have been measured, as compared 
to our Sun, it may be assumed that the average diameter 
of their solar systems must exceed our own ; but, taking 
it as nearly equal, it would give a breadth of at least 6ooa 
millions of miles as the field in space occupied by each. 
Every star or sun-system is, moreover, probably begirt 



68 The Stars of Heaven, 

with a gulf or void like that encircling our own, in which 
the antagonistic or disturbing attractions of surrounding 
suns waste themselves out and are extinguished ; hence, 
the distance of each star from its nearest neighbor is 
probably not less than that which intervenes between our 
Sun and the nearest star. Now this distance, as we have 
seen, cannot be less than 19 billions of miles. How in- 
conceivably vast, therefore, must be the space required to 
give room for so many and such stupendous solar sys- 
tems. The mind absolutely reels under the load of con- 
ceptions so mighty. Yet Infinity still lies beyond ! 

Among those great Hosts of heaven where is the home 
of our Earth and Solar system ? A probability lying 
nearer to certainty than conjecture suggests that our Sun, 
with its planetary system, forms a unit in a cluster of stars, 
similar to other clusters which we see gathered together in 
the far-off regions of the firmament. The space occupied 
by our cluster may in shape be compared to a millstone, 
of which the Milky Way forms the outer rim ; while 
nearly in the centre of this gigantic assemblage of stars, 
and about half-way between the two sides of " the. mill- 
stone " rests our Sun and its planets — " an atom in the 
luminous sand " of the firmament. 

Still, we must not say rests^ for there is absolutely noth- 
ing on Earth or in the firmament which is without move- 
ment. That our Sun — like all his fellow-stars — is trav- 
eling through space with a speed which though not yet 
determined is certainly immense, is a point on which as- 
tronomers are agreed. The most recent calculations as- 
sign to it a rate of four miles per second. Whither are 
we hurrying, round what are we moving ? These are 
problems of which the solution is left to future observers, 
yet even now calculations tend to indicate that we are 
hastening on with rapid strides in the direction of the 
constellation Hercules. Who has not looked on clear 
nights at the twinkling Pleiades, and tried, perhaps, to 



The Stars of Heaven, 69 

count their sparkles as they glitter like diamonds on a 
field of black. Their name recalls to us a heathen fable, 
but they have an interest far more lasting and reasonable 
if it be true, as astronomers conjecture, that among them 
is fixed the pivot which is central to the centre, and round 
which our Sun with its system careers in an orbit whose 
length it is as impossible for us to conceive as the distance 
of the stars themselves. 

If Astronomy were altogether silent on the subject, it 
would still be a hard matter for a reflecting mind to be- 
lieve that the masses which fill up space, the aggregate 
sum of which dwarfs our Earth into less than an atom or 
a speck, can have been created for no other purpose than 
to shed a glimmer of star-light on our dark evenings. 
" For what purpose," says Sir John Herschel, " are we to 
suppose such magnificent bodies scattered through the 
abyss of space ? Surely not to illumine our nights, which 
an additional moon of the thousandth part of the size of our 
own would do much better — not to sparkle as a pageant 
void of meaning and reality, and to bewilder us among 
vain conjectures. Useful, it is true, they are to man, as 
points of exact and permanent reference ; but he must 
have studied Astronomy to little purpose, who can sup- 
pose man to be the only object of his Creator's care, or 
who does not see, in the vast and wonderful apparatus 
around us, provision for other races of animated beings." 

Though placed at such inconceivable distances from 
our Earth, stars are yet near enough to contribute to the 
happiness and safety of mankind. During the Sun's ab- 
sence they bestow an illumination which, though feeble, is 
highly useful. When the Moon has forsaken the long 
polar night they cast a dim twilight over the snow. In 
the deserts of the East, stars have served to guide the 
traveler since those ancient days when Astronomy began 
to be cultivated on the plains of Chaldea. The pilots of 
antiquity learnt to steer by the stars before the loadstone 



70 The Stars of Heaven. 

was discovered ; and, in these days of science, Sun, Moon, 
and Stars may be said to cover the firmament with lamps 
and sign-posts. Famiharity with the fact has long dulled 
within us the feeling of surprise ; still it is a wonderful 
thing to think that, in the most lonely spots of the track- 
less ocean, the position of a ship can be told with accu- 
racy by questioning the aspects of the heavenly bodies. 
By means of Sun, Moon, and Stars, aided by a chronometer 
keeping Greenwich time, or by the " Nautical Almanac," 
both latitude and longitude may be certainly determined. 
To these aids every ship that sails upon the wide ocean is 
daily indebted for safety, nor could any thing bring home 
to us more strikingly how even the most remote works of 
Our Father are made by his providence to subserve the 
welfare of His children. 

With what just propriety of thought has light been 
called the " voice " of the stars. Through light alone 
comes all the knowledge we possess concerning them. 
Had light been created with less marvelous properties 
than those it actually possesses, even their existence 
would have been unknown to us. Can any thing be con- 
ceived more suggestively true than the expressions with 
which the Heavens are described by the Psalmist ? 

There is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among 

them. 
Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of 

the earth ! 

In the " speechless " voice of light the stars proclaim to 
us from the depths of space the existence of innumerable 
other worlds which, like our own, share the Creator's care. 
Silently they tell us of distances, magnitudes, and veloci- 
ties which transcend our power to conceive. With mute 
argument stars prove to us that, in those far-off regions, 
gravitation — the power that brings the apple to the 
ground — still reigns supreme, and with suggestive whis- 
pers of probability they persuade us that, like our own 



The Stars of Heaven, 71 

bountiful Sun, they bathe attendant worlds in floods of 
brightest light, deck them in colors of beauty, and shower 
countless blessings on the life of myriads of beings. 

He who by thoughtful contemplation has familiarized 
his mind with the wonders of the Heavens will feel his 
whole spirit imbued with the glory of the Great Architect, 
by whose Almighty Word they were called into existence. 
To him Sun, Moon, and Stars, silent though they be, will 
speak a language which he will ever deeply feel even 
though he may not always comprehend. Nor will^ they 
fail, when solemnly invoked in the Service of the Church, 
to stir up responsive adoration in his heart, for they sym- 
bolize to him more than any other visible objects the 
Wisdom and Power of the Creator. 

Whoso is wise will ponder these things, and they 'shall understand the 
loving-kindness of the Lord. — Ps. xcvii. 




WINTER AND SUMMER. 




Oye Winter and Summer^ bless ye the Lord : praise Him^ and 
magnify Him for enjer. 

HE great Architect has appointed that the earth, 
hke its fellow-planets, should make an annual 
t Silil journey round the sun in a path which is not far 
from circular. During this time the earth is separated 
from the central luminary of our system by a mean dis- 
tance of 92 millions of miles, which has been designedly 
fixed as securing to it the reception of that exact amount 
of heat and light which is best suited to the requirements 
of all the beings found upon it. Any other distance than 
this would, in fact, have been incompatible with the order 
of life we see established around us. But, besides this 
general arrangement as to distance, there are certain mod- 
ifications in connection with it which affect most remarka- 
bly the local distribution of heat over the globe, giving rise 
to seasonal variations — to Winter and Summer, and to 
differences of climate. In looking at an astronomical dia- 
gram it will be remarked that the sun is placed, not in the 
centre, but in one of the foci of the ellipse which the earth's 
orbit describes round it ; and the result of this necessa- 
rily is that the earth is nearer to the sun at one period of 
the year than it is at another. The conclusion is naturally 
suggested that this period of " nearness " must coincide 
with Summer, and that of distance with Winter ; but, 
strange though it may appear, it is exactly the reverse. 
On the I St January the earth is about one thirtieth part 
nearer the sun than it is on the 21st June. 



Winter and Summer, 73 

It is clear, therefore, that the cold of Winter and the 
heat of Summer must depend on other causes acting with 
power sufficient to overbalance the effect which this rel- 
ative nearness or distance of the sun ought naturally to 
produce. Such a cause is found in the inclination of the 
earth's axis to the plane of its orbit. The effect of this 
arrangement can be easily illustrated by an impromptu 
orrery. Let a card placed near the centre of a round 
table represent the sun ; a ball of worsted will be the 
earth, and a knitting-needle thrust through its centre will 
form its axis and poles. The rim of the table conven- 
iently traces the earth's orbit round the sun, while the flat 
surface forms the imaginary " plane," on a level with 
which the centre of the sun and earth are supposed to be 
arranged. The earth's axis, it must be recollected, is not 
perpendicular to this plane — not straight up and down 
— but is inclined toward, or ~ leans upon, it at an angle 
of 23^ degrees. If we now apply the centre of the 
worsted ball, or earth, against the rim of the table at the 
point farthest removed from the sun, giving the knitting- 
needle, or axis, an inclination toward the sun to the 
amount specified ; and if we then slide it round the rim, 
taking care not to alter the direction of the inclination, 
and to make the needle always maintain the same parallel 
throughout, we have a rough imitation of the orbit which 
the earth describes in its annual journey round the sun. 

But let us draw attention more particularly to the point 
of this arrangement on which the alternation of Summer 
and Winter depends. If, on starting from that part of the 
rim of the table which is farthest from the " sun," the 
upper or north " pole " of the worsted ball be inclined 
toward that luminary, it will be found that on arriving at 
the side of the table exactly opposite — and nearest to the 
sun — the same " north pole " is now inclined away from 
it. Exactly the reverse of this has, of course, happened to 
the " south pole ; " it inclined at first from, but now in- 



74 Winter and Summer, 

clines toward the sun. The necessary effect of these 
changes of position is to place that side of the earth, 
which for the time being leans toward the sun, in a more 
favorable position for receiving light and heat than the 
side which is inclined away from it. The result thus pro- 
duced upon the temperature much more than compensates 
for the heat either gained or lost on account of the com- 
parative nearness or distance of the earth in relation to 
the sun at the two periods of the year, and it therefore 
rules the seasons. In the hemisphere which is inclined 
toward the sun there is Summer ; while, in that which is 
inclined away from it, there is Winter. Every body knows 
that when it is Summer in England it is Winter at the 
Antipodes. 

When we consider the forethought with which the con- 
ditions of animal and vegetable life have been adjusted to 
the distance of the earth from the sun — to their respect- 
ive sizes and densities — to the length of the earth's orbit 
— to the velocity with which it travels, and to the nicely 
poised inclination of its axis — we cannot fail to be deeply 
impressed with the admirable design of the Creator and 
the excellence of His Power. All these elements had to 
be adjusted, one with the other, in order to establish Win- 
ter and Summer, and the least deviation in any of them 
from the condition which actually exists would have spoilt 
the harmonious working of the whole. The beauty and 
necessity of these arrangements have been happily illus- 
trated by Dr. Whewell : " The length of the year or inter- 
val of recurrence of the seasons is determined by the time 
which the earth employs in performing its revolution round 
the sun : and we can very easily conceive the solar system 
so adjusted that the year should be longer or shorter than 
it actually is. We can imagine the earth to revolve round 
the sun at a distance greater or less than that which it at 
present has, all the forces of the system remaining unal- 
tered. If the earth were removed toward the centre by 



Winter and Summer, 75 

about one eighth of its distance, the year would be dimin- 
ished by about a month, and in the same manner it would 
be increased by a month on increasing the distance by 
one eighth. We can suppose the earth at a distance of 
eighty four or one hundred and eight millions of miles, 
just as easily as at its present distance of ninety-six mill- 
ions : we can suppose the earth with its present stock of 
animals and vegetables placed where Mars or where 
Venus is, and revolving in an orbit like one of theirs ; on 
the former supposition our year would become twenty- 
three, on the latter, seven of our present months. Or we 
can conceive the present distances of the parts of the sys- 
tem to continue what they are, and the size, or the density 
of the central mass, the sun, to be increased or diminished 
in any proportion ; and in this way the time of the earth's 
revolution might have been increased or diminished in 
any degree ; a greater velocity, and consequently a dimin- 
ished period, being requisite in order to balance an aug- 
mented central attraction. In any of these ways the 
length of the earth's natural year might have been differ- 
ent from what it now is : in the last way without any ne- 
cessary alteration, so far 'as we can see, of temperature. 
Now, if any change of this kind were to take place, the 
working of the botanical world would be thrown into 
utter disorder, the functions of plants would be entirely 
deranged, and the whole vegetable kingdom involved in 
instant decay and rapid extinction. That this would be 
the case, may be collected from innumerable indications. 
Most of our fruit-trees, for example, require the year to be 
of its present length. If the Summer and the Autumn 
were much shorter, the fruit could not ripen ; if these sea- 
sons were much longer, the tree would put forth a fresh 
suit of blossoms to be cut down by the Winter. Or if the 
year were twice its present length, a second crop of fruit 
would probably not be matured, for want, among other 
things, of an intermediate season of rest and consolidation, 



76 Winter and Summer. 

such as the Winter is. Our forest-trees, in like manner, 
appear to need all the seasons of our present year for 
their perfection ; the Spring, Summer, and Autumn, for 
the development of their leaves and consequent formation 
of their proper juice, and of wood from this ; and the 
Winter for the hardening and solidifying the substance 
thus formed." 

As a general rule it may be said that temperature falls 
in proportion to increase of latitude ; at first slowly, and 
then more rapidly. Our daily experience of midday sun 
and sunset teaches us that oblique rays give much less 
heat than those that are more nearly vertical ; and as the 
earth is round, and as rays from the sun, therefore, fall 
on it all the more obliquely the greater the distance is 
from the Equator, it follows that in high latitudes, where 
the globe from its shape curves in rapidly toward the 
poles, the temperature will fall with accelerated ratio. 

Such is the cosmical arrangement by which the general 
supply of heat is meted out to the earth, but there are 
many circumstances which modify this distribution, so as 
to produce great differences of climate in places that are 
on nearly the same latitude. Thus, in proceeding north- 
ward from the tropics, the mean annual temperature falls 
much more quickly in America than in Europe. For ex- 
ample, the cities of Madrid and Philadelphia are both 
situated at nearly 40 degrees of latitude ; but the mean 
annual climate of the former is 9° higher than that of the 
American city. In comparing places farther to the north 
the difference is still more striking. 

We have space in this chapter to notice only very 
briefly some of the causes which modify climate. The 
reader will find many additional observations bearing on 
this subject in those sections of this book wherein Moun- 
tains, Winds, Ice and Snow, the Sea, and the Green 
things upon the earth are considered. 

The great equalizer and mitigator of extremes of heat 



Winter and Summer, "jj 

and cold is the ocean. A maritime climate is for the most 
part moderate in its seasonal changes, in comparison to 
an inland climate on the same latitude. In Winter, the 
sea being warmer than the land, tempers the winds which 
blow toward it ; while, in Summer, as its temperature is 
lower than the heated surface of the shore, it imparts fresh 
coolness to the breezes. Warm or cold ocean currents, 
if they be extensive, have much influence on climate. 
Thus the great Gulf Stream, laden with the heat of the 
Tropics, by laving the shores of Western Europe, and 
more especially those of our own islands, sensibly moder- 
ates the rigor of the Winter ; while, on the other hand, 
the cold current from the Greenland Sea and Baffin's Bay, 
which streams past Newfoundland and the Atlantic shore 
of North America, materially lowers the climatic tempera- 
ture of those countries. 

As a general rule, the effect of a deep inland or con- 
tinental position in temperate regions is to give what is 
called an " extreme " character to the climate, — that is, 
to make it colder in Winter and hotter in Summer than 
other places on the same parallel of latitude which are 
surrounded by or near the sea. To illustrate this point, 
the climate of Warsaw in nearly 52° 13' may be contrasted 
with that of Dublin in 53° 2I^ Warsaw lies on the great 
plain of Central Europe. In Winter, the surface over a 
wide tract around loses its temperature under the in- 
fluence of the long nights and keen frosts, while there is 
no neighboring sea to mitigate the cold. Had the ocean 
been near, as its temperature does not fall under 40° Fah- 
renheit, it would have corrected this rigor j but, instead 
of the comparatively warm sea, there is an extensile land 
surface, which, being cooled down far below the freezing 
point, imparts to the air passing over Warsaw much of its 
own intense rigor. Dublin, on the other hand, by having 
a maritime position, enjoys during the Winter a far milder 
climate, although it lies more than a degree farther north. 



jS Winter and Summer, 

The temperature of its coldest month does not fall below 
a mean of 37°, while that of Warsaw sinks to 27 degrees. 
In Summer, however, the same physical conditions pro- 
duce exactly the contrary effect. The sandy plains round 
Warsaw get baked in the sun, and the air in passing over 
them is heated as in an oven ; but round Dublin there are 
no scorched plains, and the sea that encircles Ireland 
tends still further to cool the temperature. Hence, while 
the mean of the hottest month at Warsaw is 70°, that of 
Dublin is only 60°. Thus Warsaw is 10 degrees colder 
than Dublin in Winter, and 10 degrees hotter in Summer. 

To similar causes is to be attributed the extreme char- 
acter of the climate throughout the greater part of North 
America. At New York, for example, the thermometer in 
Summer often rises to above 100° in the shade ; while dur- 
ing the Winter of 1866 it fell to 15° below zero, and 
marked 28° in places more inland. The explanation of 
this excessive rigor is that most of this vast continent lies 
far from the sea, while it stretches in unbroken continua- 
tion into the frozen regions. In the same way Central 
Asia chiefly owes its " extreme " climate to its distance 
from the ocean. 

Although there be no Winter or Summer within the 
tropics and in certain adjacent districts in the sense in 
which we understand them, there is nevertheless a division 
of the year into " wet and dry " periods, which, in their 
influence on the functions of animal and more especially 
of vegetable life, have effects analogous to those produced 
by the warm and cold seasons of higher latitudes. In the 
wet season vegetation is most vigorous ; but, after the 
dry season has continued for some time, the grass withers 
and dries up, the deciduous leaves fall, the growth of 
plants is arrested, and the vegetable world reposes very 
much as in the Winter of more northern climes. The 
analogy between these seasons is still more strikingly 
shown by the torpor into which some animals fall during 



Winter and Summer, 79 

the dry season, just as elsewhere they pass into a state of 
hibernation during the Winter. Thus when that reptile- 
looking fish, the Lepidosiren of the river Gambia, per- 
ceives that the waters are falling on the approach of the 
dry season, and that food is becoming scarce, it buries 
itself in the mud, and there awaits in a dormant state the 
return of the rains. Sir J. E. Tennent has noticed other 
animals in Ceylon which become torpid during the dry 
season in the mud of the great water-tanks, and more ex- 
tended observation will probably add to the list. 

Nowhere, from the force of contrast, is Summer more 
brilliantly joyous or its approach welcomed with greater 
delight, than in polar regions, where amid perennial frost 
and snow Winter seems to be enthroned for ever. The 
long, continuous night, after passing through a tedious 
dawn, at length opens into that bright, brief interval in 
which Spring, Summer, and Autumn are blended into one. 
In rays of warmth the sun sends forth the signal, and 
Nature promptly answers to the call. As heat increases, 
the solitude once more shows signs of life and movement. 
The frozen lumps and ledges covering the sea begin to 
strain and crack and split asunder, and glacier masses 
breaking loose from their icy cables yield themselves up 
to the current and the wind. Food is' no longer abso- 
lutely wanting, and many creatures that have been slum- 
bering through the Winter now shake off their torpor. 
Torpor enforced, but merciful ! As Winter approached, 
supplies of food ran short and then became exhausted, so 
God in kindness sent them sleep. Hunger was extin- 
guished in lethargy. It was needful to husband the forces 
of vitality until the time of abundance should again come 
round ; so the heart was made to beat, and the lungs to 
breathe, at the lowest rate that was compatible with ex 
istence. The expenditure of fuel to maintain animal 
warmth was thus brought down to its minimum, and the 
lamp of life was sparingly fed with the fat Vvhich Nature 



8o Winter and Summer, 

had providentially stored up in the body when food was 
plenty. But now, called forth by light and warmth, the 
bear creeps from its lair of snow, and seals and walruses 
begin to gambol round the rocks where lately solid ice 
sealed up the surface of the deep. Myriads of migratory 
waterfowl from the warm South whiten the in-shore cliffs. 
Then the Esquimau, rousing himself from the enforced 
idleness of the long night, sallies forth to hunt and fish, 
and to gather up supplies of food in snow-built safes 
against the never-distant Winter. The short, thick grass 
and moss spread their carpet of green over every sheltered 
spot from which the snow has melted, and the rest of the 
scanty but often brightsome flora of remotest North puts 
on with marvelous rapidity its Summer aspects. 

Diversity of climate and season — of Winter and Sum- 
mer — over the globe has produced for man's advantage a 
corresponding variety of animal and vegetable life. Man 
himself has an organic strength which enables him to 
exist in every clime ; but other animals, and all plants, 
have a more limited geographical distribution, and are 
endowed with constitutions which fit them for thriving in 
certain regions only. By means of commerce, however, 
the short-comings of one climate are supplemented by the 
riches of another, and all the most useful productions 
growing upon the earth are thus most widely scattered. 
This necessary interchange, moreover, becomes a means of 
knitting the whole world in bonds of mutual dependence. 

We may rest assured that nothing in Nature has been 
established without benevolent design, and even the dif- 
ficulties arising from the proverbial uncertainties of cli- 
mate, as well as the impediments encountered in the cul- 
tivation of the soil, are not without their use. Every 
thing shows that we are here as in a training school, and 
surrounded by circumstances which, by demanding the 
energetic exercise of our faculties, tend to preserve and 
strengthen them. In man's contests with the so-called 



Winter and Summer. 8i 

faults of climate, he is, for the most part, reasonably vic- 
torious. His prudent foresight, his ingenious contrivances, 
his dexterous wielding of science to avert evils and im- 
prove opportunities, are continually showing how abun- 
dantly the Creator has supplied him with all means need- 
ful for his welfare, in whatever quarter of the world his 
lot may happen to be cast. 

Diversity of climate circumscribes within limits more 
or less narrow many of the most useful of our food-pro- 
ducing plants, but this unavoidable evil has sometimes 
been lessened or obviated in a way which affords another 
instance of the kind forethought of Our Father. One of 
the most useful articles of vegetable diet is sugar, and 
Nature has taken care that many substances in common 
use shall contain a fair proportion of it. At the same 
time, there are certain plants in which it exists so abun- 
dantly that we are accustomed to resort to them for our 
large supplies. Of these the chief is the well-known 
" cane." But the sugar-cane flourishes only in the tropics 
and adjacent regions ; and therefore all sugar from this 
source consumed in extra-tropical countries must be 
brought to them by commerce. Many a wide district, 
however, lying far in the interior of continents, is unfa- 
vorably situated for thus receiving its supplies, and it 
might either have been deprived of that article altogether, 
or at least have been inadequately provided with it, had 
not Providence, with kind intent, created other sugar- 
producing plants constitutionally suited to different cli- 
mates, for the purpose of distributing the gift more gen- 
erally over the world. Thus we find that, from the " cane " 
region to the Mediterranean, the supply of sugar is main- 
tained by several plants, among which may be mentioned 
the date-palm and the fig. Beyond this, in climates cor- 
responding to southern Europe, there are the sorghum 
and maize, from which much sugar is now manufactured 
in France and America. Farther to the north the beet- 
6 



82 Winter and Summer, 

root in the field and the maple in the forest extend the 
system of sugar-producing plants almost to the confines 
of the arctic circle. In another article of diet, which 
from its importance we are accustomed to call the " staff 
of life," a similar providential succession is observed. 
Farinaceous food is tropically represented by the rice- 
plant in great abundance ; in proceeding northward rice 
is associated with the maize or Indian corn ; that is suc- 
ceeded by wheat ; and lastly, we have oats and barley 
flourishing almost up to the North Cape. The same rep- 
resentative system is observed in regard to many other 
important vegetable principles with more or less distinct- 
ness. In this manner, then, the difficulties opposed by 
climate to the wide distribution over the globe of some of 
the most valuable products of the vegetable kingdom have 
been entirely surmounted. It is clear that, according to 
the laws which regulate the vegetable kingdom, it was 
impossible for the same useful plants to flourish every- 
where ; but Providence has created duplicates, as it were, 
to yield abundantly the same products, and has adapted 
them by their constitution to take up their position in 
the difierent climatic belts of the world, in order that no 
extensive region should be without them. 

With all their imputed faults of climate, we have no 
occasion in these favored islands* to envy the plantal 
glories of warmer regions. In absolute beauty who shall 
say that we are not on an equality, whilst the great charm 
arising from the well-marked progression of the seasons is 
more especially our own. Nothing is more frequently 
debated than the comparative attractions of the different 
periods of the year, and certainly no season — not even 
excepting Winter — need be without its admirers. The 
never-ending contrasts which every season spreads before 
us unquestionably contribute much to enhance our enjoy- 
ment. Never do " green things " seem so green or flowers 

* Great Britain. 



Winter and Summer. 83 

so bright as when our first glimpses of them are caught 
through the opening portals of the Spring. Then do we 
feel more than at any other time the great value of this sea- 
sonal alternation. How gladly the eye wanders over and 
reposes upon the "universal garb" of Nature. To the 
beauties of Summer and Autumn we are led up as it were 
through an avenue which, by gradually preparing us for 
what is to follow, lessens in some degree the keenness of 
our relish. The banquet is more varied, but the freshness 
of the appetite is wanting. 

Though Winter may yield in beauty to other seasons, 
it is yet universally felt to have special attractions of its 
own. There is much to admire in the cheery, ruddy glow 
of the sun, in the noble and picturesque though naked 
forms of the woods, in the hoar-frost on the grass, in the 
sparkle of the ice-gemmed trees, the stalactites of crystal, 
and the wreaths of snow. Even in Winter's gloomiest 
moods the comforting thought is ever rising to our mind, 
that the stillness we see round is not death but needful 
repose spread over Nature in mercy, and that the woods 
will soon again be clothed in green, and vocal with the 
songs of birds. 

Winter has yet another aspect by which it is endeared 
to us. At Christmas-time it is crowned by the great Fes- 
tival of the Church and of the family. Then, while Na- 
ture slumbers in wood and field. Winter is brightly and 
lovingly awake around the hearth, gladdening millions of 
hearts with warm affection. Families that' were scattered 
by the various calls of life once more gather together to 
enjoy the present, glance at the past, and treasure up new 
associations for the future. Then shops put on their gay- 
est looks, and young and old press eagerly forward in 
search of the little gifts that are to make others happy. 
Streets and railway stations are thronged with bustling 
groups hurr}dng on to claim from expectant friends the 
cordial welcome of the season. Here and there, too, may 



84 Winter and Summer, 

be seen the " knotless threads " and waifs of the world 
drawn onward by the social influence of the season to- 
ward some genial home, where, for a time, the sense of 
loneliness will be forgotten. At Christmas the Church 
and the Home seem to draw closer to each other, and the 
thoughts awakened by the solemn festival mingle with and 
temper the current of family rejoicing. Christmas is pre- 
eminently the season of " good-will toward men." Un- 
der its kindly impulses the mind softens with sympathy, 
and, while keenly alive to the blessings that fall to its own 
lot, is more heedful, perhaps, than at other times of the 
plaints of the less fortunate. The parish work-house is 
for the day made radiant with merry faces, and Charity 
enters through its gloomy gates to spread the feast in 
honor of the Anniversary. In the good soil which Christ- 
mas thus prepares in the heart old friendships revive and 
new affections quickly strike their roots; while animosi- 
ties, curbed by the gentle influences of the season, shrink 
out of sight, or are swept away altogether in the gush of 
better feelings. 

The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground : yea, I have a goodly heritage. — 

Ps. xvi. 





NIGHTS AND DAYS. 

O ye Nights and Days^ bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and mag- 
nifyHimfore<ver. 

E have already alluded to the earth's orbital 
movement round the sun, from which our year 
results j and we have now to direct attention to 
that other movement of the earth by which, in turning 
upon its axis every 23 hours 56 minutes and 4 seconds, it 
gives rise to the division of time into Nights and Days. 
How perfect the working of that machine must be by 
which this division is meted out may be inferred from a 
calculation by Laplace, which demonstrated that " it was 
impossible that a difference of one hundredth of a second 
of time should have occurred between the length of the 
day in the earliest ages, and at the present time ! " 

Reverting for a moment to our impromptu orrery, it is 
obvious that if the ball of worsted, representing the earth, 
were to be held steady during its solar orbit, so as not to 
turn round on its axis, one hemisphere of its surface 
would be directed toward the sun for one half of its cir- 
cuit, and the remaining hemisphere during the other half. 
In other words, a whole year would be divided into one 
long day and one long night. During the day the sun 
would always be above the horizon, and the accumulation 
of heat which would thus accrue would far transcend the 
hottest tropical climate. In the other hemisphere, turned 
away from the sun, there would be a constant loss of heat 
from radiation, and as no compensatory rays would be re- 
ceived from that luminary, the temperature would sink be- 



86 Nights and Days. 

low that of the frozen regions. It is clear that such an 
arrangement would be incompatible with the conditions 
under which life now exists upon our globe. Having re- 
gard to the constitution that has been given to animals 
and plants, it is absolutely necessary that heat and light 
should be meted out to them at intervals sufficiently fre- 
quent to guard against extremes of temperature. There- 
fore it is ordained that the earth shall revolve once upon 
its axis in a period nearly amounting to twenty-four hours, 
— an arrangement by which twelve hours of alternate day 
and night, of warm sunlight and cool darkness, are se- 
cured to each hemisphere. By the aid of certain cosmical 
conditions, elsewhere noticed, modifications in the distri- 
bution of light and heat are produced, by which animals 
and plants might obtain that particular length of day 
and night which is best suited to their nature and habits. 

The intervals of night and day are, moreover, in perfect 
harmony with that law of Nature by which all animals re- 
quire seasons of rest to alternate with periods of activity. 
The demand for repose is universally felt and obeyed. 
Even plants may be said to have their days and nights, in 
the sense of intervals for activity and rest ; but the hours 
for labor are struck by the seasons — by orbital and not 
by axial rotation. In spring, summer, and autumn the 
3ap circulates briskly, the manufacture of wood proceeds 
without intermission, and the various special products, as 
gum, starch, sugar, and other matters, are elaborated. 
But on the approach of winter — or toward the evening 
of their long day of work — plants turn weary, and, by a 
poetical yet truthful figure, we habitually speak of them 
as "falling asleep." So necessary is this period of repose 
that, in the tropics where there is no winter's cold to chill 
them into rest. Nature wraps them in salutary torpor by 
means of the sun's fierce rays. And how gladdening the 
dawn after the long night when plants awake from their 
sleep, and burst forth once more to resume their day of 
work! 



Nights and Days. 87 

Night mercifully beckons the world to rest. The busy- 
sounds of day cease to distract the ear, and Nature gently 
points toward repose. How sad when the silent hours 
of darkness refuse to steep in sweet oblivion the senses 
of the careworn, or to dull the racked nerves of him who 
languishes upon a bed of sickness. Sleep is best wooed 
by labor — it is the reward with which Nature blesses ex- 
ertion. How grateful sleep is to the busy workers of the 
world ; to the drones only is it apt to be, like their life, a 
listless, scarcely enjoyed vacuity. Night, too, calls us to 
meditation. When darkness drops its curtain over the 
things of earth, the mind is prompted to look inward. 
The brief but salutary retrospect of the day should then 
be made, and the account closed. In prayer the soul 
finds peace, and sleep steals softly on amid thoughts that 
recall the Divine protection. 

My trust is in the tender mercy of God for ever and ever. — Ps. lii. 





LIGHT AND DARKNESS, 



Oye Light and Darkness^ bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and mag' 
nify Him for e'ver. 




MONG those works of the Lord to which this 
hymn appeals there is not one more full of 
blessings to mankind than Light, or one which 
more praises and magnifies the Creator. But, though 
many of the laws by which Light is governed are now well 
known, its essential nature is still a mystery. Some phi- 
losophers suppose it to be an " emanation " from luminous 
bodies of inconceivably minute atoms which act on the 
retina of the eye like odorous particles on the nerves of 
smell. Others refer its phenomena to " undulations " ex- 
cited in a subtle ether pervading space, and traveling on- 
ward to the eye by a movement resembling waves in the 
ocean. This theory, therefore, points to an analogy with 
the sense of hearing. 

How wonderful is the construction of that little instru- 
ment by which light is made to minister to vision ! There 
is truly nothing in the whole range of Nature which more 
convincingly demonstrates design than the mutual adap- 
tations of eye and light. This organ, equally perfect in 
contrivance and in finish, exhibits the most wonderful 
combination of organic power with a mechanical appara- 
tus formed on the regular principles of optics. We see 
objects by reflected light ; in other words, the object 
must first be illuminated, and then it must reflect a cer- 
tain amount of this light into our eyes. But as the en- 
trance of too many or too bright rays would have dazzled 



Light and Darkness, 89 

vision, while too few would have left it obscure and indis- 
tinct, an ever-vigilant sentinel — the iris, on which the 
color depends — was posted in front across the interior 
of the eye, to regulate, by the expansion or contraction 
of the pupil, the exact number of rays that ought to be 
admitted. It was also necessary that the rays, after en- 
tering the eye, should be made to converge so as to depict 
a distinct image on the retina, or nerve of vision, spread 
out at the back of the organ. For this purpose a lens, 
as clear as crystal, has been fixed up immediately behind 
the pupil, to " refract " or bend the rays into the proper 
focus. Not less careful has the Creator been in regard to 
the safety of so delicate an apparatus. To preserve the 
eye from injury, it has been sunk as deeply in the face as 
was consistent with the free range of vision ; it is de- 
fended all round by strong ridges of bone, and made to 
move softly on an adipose cushion. Eyebrows, moreover, 
have been placed above, and fringing eyelashes in front, 
to guard against excessive light ; while, by the rapid 
movement of the eyelids, the tears are diffused over the 
surface of the eye exposed to the air so as to keep it 
moist and glistening. Such are a few only of the beauti- 
ful contrivances exhibited by this organ. 

Light, though colorless and invisible, is in reality made 
up of seven different tints, which again may be reduced 
to three — red, yellow, and blue — out of which the others 
are formed. The whole series is finely displayed in that 
separation of light into its constituent parts which takes 
place in a prism of glass or in the water-drops of the 
rainbow. Objects which absorb nearly all the rays are 
black ; those which reflect them all are white ; and we 
owe the charm of color to the circumstance that most 
bodies, while decomposing the rays of light that fall on 
them, absorb some of the constituent tints and reflect the 
others. By the endless combination of these last every 
variety of color is produced. In many ways colors are 



90 Light and Darkness. 

convenient and useful, nor will any one deny that the face 
of Nature would have lost its highest charm had not this 
property been bestowed on light. 

The sun is the great fountain of Light ; but, without the 
cooperation of the atmosphere to diffuse it over objects, 
the illumination of this earth would have been most im- 
perfect, and light could never have become the universal 
blessing which it now is. Objects on which the direct 
rays of the sun fell would, of course, have reflected light 
and been visible ; but objects which were in shade, and 
which, therefore, did not receive any direct solar rays, 
would have been invisible. Let any one attempt to realize 
the confusion into which the world would thus have been 
thrown. Even in the brightest sunshine M^e should have 
seen things only in broken fragments. The varied beauty 
of scenery would have vanished, and every landscape 
would have been disfigured with seams and patches of 
inky blackness. The rays of the sun in passing through 
a window would have brightened the surfaces they 
touched, but all around would have been left in almost 
midnight darkness. In conversing with a friend, the side 
which was turned toward the sun would alone have been 
visible ; and, if our own face had happened to be opposite 
to his and in shade, he could not have seen it. If a cloud 
had passed over the sun both of us would have vanished 
into darkness, as if from a sudden eclipse. The azure 
tints of the firmament would have disappeared, and the 
stars would have shone at midday from a vault of utter 
blackness. To improve the illumination it was, therefore, 
essential that something should distribute the light, so as 
to supply objects that were in shade with a certain amount 
of rays, by the reflection of which they might be seen. 
This task was given by the Creator to the atmosphere. 
Many of the sun's rays fall directly on the earth, but the 
rest are caught up by the air, and are reflected and re- 
reflected from one particle to another, and are scattered 



Light and Darkness, 91 

and diffused in every direction, until all objects within their 
influence, are bathed in light In this manner bodies in 
shade are illumined and become visible by reflecting into 
our eyes more or less of the light they have received at 
second-hand. 

The service which the atmosphere renders to the sun, 
in diffusing its light equally over objects, is amply repaid 
by the sun in cooperating with plants to purify the atmos- 
phere. A healthy condition of the latter is of primary 
necessity to our welfare ; and, as the air is continually 
being vitiated in a variety of ways, some active agency is 
needed to check deterioration and preserve it in a state of 
purity. The essential constituent of the air is oxygen, 
which is diluted with nitrogen to a certain degree ; and 
with this mixture is invariably associated a small propor- 
tion of carbonic acid gas. The latter is poisonous ; but, 
under ordinary circumstances, the quantity existing in the 
air — only about one 2000th part of its volume — is too 
small to be attended with any inconvenience. There are, 
however, many causes in operation continually tending to 
destroy this balance, and to produce a noxious excess. 
In the first place, we manufacture the poison within our- 
selves to an extent which, though small in the individual, 
is enormous in the aggregate. With every inspiration we 
draw into the lungs a certain amount of oxygen, which, 
after combining with a certain amount of carbon or char- 
coal, is expired in the shape of carbonic acid gas. Now, 
although a small proportion of this acid was inspired as a 
constituent of the air, the quantity evolved exceeds by 
sixty times the quantity taken in ; so that the ' whole 
amount of carbon thus daily carried off" from the lungs of 
a healthy adult is not less than from nine to twelve 
ounces. When we multiply this unit by the population of 
the world, and add to it the product of respiration in the 
lower animals, we may imagine the extent to which the at- 
mosphere is vitiated from this cause. 



92 Light and Darkness. 

A quantity of carbonic acid gas still more enormous 
is produced by combustion, the decomposition of animal 
and vegetable matter, and by fermentation. Every can- 
dle and every lamp sends forth its little rill of poison 
into the air, while from fireplaces and furnaces it issues 
in streams. In all these cases the chemical action 
is the same ; — the carbon of the fuel is changed into 
carbonic acid by its union with oxygen gas. 

Notwithstanding these sources of vitiation it is found 
experimentally that the relative proportions of the con- 
stituents of the atmosphere vary very little, and that the 
amount of carbonic acid diffused through it never exceeds 
its due quantity. It is obvious, therefore, that the Cre- 
ator must have set some potent machinery in motion to 
correct and purify. Rain and surface water carry off more 
or less of the gas, and some mineral springs sparkle with it ; 
but the work is chiefly done through the agency of Light 
upon the leaves of plants. AVhen it is said that we " viti- 
ate " the air in breathing, the expression refers only to its 
salubrity as regards ourselves and other animals ; but we 
should greatly err if we supposed that this apparent spoil- 
ing subserved no good purpose. That which vitiates the 
air to us only prepares and perfects it for the use of 
plants ; and the carbonic acid which would be poison to 
us is food to them. Thus the leaves, while bathed in air, 
extract from it the chief bulk of the carbon which is to 
build up the woody substance of the tree to which they 
belong. It is to be observed, however, that they can only 
perform this function so long as they are stimulated by 
Light. In darkness, plants, instead of purifying the air, 
tend to vitiate it still further by a slight evolution of the 
very gas which it is their special function to remove. But 
in the day-time, the leaf seizes upon the particles of car- 
bonic acid gas that come in contact with it ; and, while it 
" fixes " the carbon in its substance, it liberates into the 
air the oxygen which is to restore its purity. It might be 



Light and Darkness, 93 

thought that, as there are no leaves in winter to purify, 
the atmosphere would then become poisonous. But by 
the cosmical conditions of our globe it has been wisely 
ordained that it never is winter all over the world at the 
same time. The work, therefore, is always going on, 
though the scene of the laboratory is shifted. But be- 
sides this, the period of a single winter, with its dispersing 
winds and currents, would be too short to allow any inju- 
rious accumulation to take place. Thus to vast causes 
of vitiation are opposed vast agencies that purify, whereby 
the balance which works for the good of all organized 
Nature is preserved. 

At midday the unprotected eye cannot face the sun. 
But at sunset he ceases to dazzle, because his rays, from 
their greater obliquity, lose much of their fierceness while 
passing through the less clear and more vaporous layers 
of the atmosphere immediately investing the earth. The 
light is not only weakened, but it is altered in its charac- 
ter. In their passage toward our eyes many rays are 
absorbed and lost altogether, and many others are decom- 
posed and only partially transmitted. Of the ray-frag- 
ments which thus survive and eventually reach our retina 
the red predominate ;' and hence the glowing hues of sun- 
set. 

When looking at the sun just as he begins to set, it is 
curious to reflect that he is not really where he appears 
to be, but actually below the horizon. We are, in fact, 
looking at his image or picture. There is a rim of the 
horizon interposed between us ; he is in the position of 
the hull of a ship when, as sailors express it, the ship is 
" hull-down." Hence, were it possible that a cannon-ball 
could be projected in a straight line right through the 
bright disk before us, it would not strike the sun, but 
would pass clean over it. This " lifting up " of the image 
of the sun is due to " refraction " — that property which 
has already been noticed as enabling the lens of the eye 



94 Light and Darkness. 

to bend the rays of light, and bring them to a focus on 
the retina. Refraction is famihar to every boy who has 
thrust a stick into clear water, and noticed the broken or 
bent appearance it presents at the point of immersion ; 
and a spoon placed in a teacup into which a little water 
has been poured will exhibit it equally well. For our 
present purpose, however, this will be better illustrated by 
another very simple experiment. Let a shilling be laid at 
the bottom of a basin placed on the table, and let the ob- 
server then move slowly backward, keeping his eye fixed 
on the piece of money, until the rim of the basin just in- 
tercepts his view. If water be now poured into the basin 
without displacing the coin, the latter will be as it were 
lifted up out of its real position, and will become visible. 
At first the shilling was seen in its true place. When the 
rays proceeding from it to the eye were intercepted by the 
rim of the basin, it became invisible. But when the 
water was added some of the rays from the coin in pass- 
ing from the water into the air were " refracted," and bent 
downward toward the eye so as to fall within the range 
of vision. Now as in refraction objects are not seen in 
the direction in which the rays originally left them, but in 
the direction in which the rays ultimately enter the eye, it 
follows that the coin is visible in its " lifted up " position. 
In applying this experiment to the phenomena of sunset, 
we may consider the shilling as the sun, and the intercept- 
ing rim of the basin as the horizon behind which the sun 
has really sunk. The media of water and air represent 
the dense, vaporous, impure lower strata of the atmos- 
phere, which gradually " refract," or bend down toward 
our eye, the rays that come to us from the sun, and thus 
lift up its image above its real position. 

To the " reflecting " power of the atmosphere we owe 
that interval of half-light which in the morning we call 
the dawn, and in the evening the twilight. Were it not 
for this property, we should pass at once from darkness 



Light and Darkness, 95 

to light and from light to darkness. When the sun sinks 
below the horizon, and when his direct rays have bid adieu 
to the dwellers on the plains, they still continue to tint 
the tops of the hills ; and when, from the further dipping 
of the sun, these also have passed into shade, the slant- 
ing rays still enter freely into the higher regions of the 
atmosphere. Most of these rays continue their course 
into space and are lost to us entirely ; but others are 
caught up by the particles of air and vapor, as by mirrors 
of inconceivable minuteness, and are turned back and re- 
flected from layer to layer downward until at length they 
reach the earth. The same operation is repeated as the 
sun approaches from the east in the morning. The soft, 
mild light of twilight is especially grateful in summer to 
eyes that seek repose after the hot glare of the sun. It is 
linked in most minds with pleasant associations. This is 
the time for leisure strolls on land or gliding movements 
on the water. It brings us into acquaintance with many 
animals which select it as their favorite period of activity. 
Soon as the swallows have ceased their t\vit-twit, the bats 
issuing from their retreat begin to occupy the vacant hunt- 
ing ground, in which they display an activity on the wing 
scarcely less astonishing. 

The length of twilight varies according to the latitude 
and the season of the year. It is shortest within the 
tropics, whose inhabitants may be said to plunge almost 
at once from light into darkness ; and it lengthens as we 
proceed toward the poles. In the latitude of London, 
from the 2 2d May to the 21st July, so much light lingers 
behind between sunset and sunrise that, speaking astro- 
nomically, there is no night at all. At the north pole 
night lasts from November 12th to January 29th ; it is 
preceded by one long twilight continuing uninterruptedly 
from the autumnal equinox ; and it is followed by a dawn 
reaching to the vernal equinox. During the whole of this 
period of six months the sun is below the horizon. Those 



96 Light and Darkness. 

who enjoy the blessing of alternate day and night every 
24 hours, can hardly realize the intense thankfulness with 
which the dawn and the sun are welcomed by men who 
have just passed through the depressing influences of the 
dreary polar night. We can sympathize with Doctor 
Kane in his brig among the Greenland ice, as he records 
his eager watchings for the sun, and the calculations 
which, by revealing its daily progress toward him, per- 
mitted him to anticipate v/ith certainty the day of its reap- 
pearance. AVe understand the thankfulness with which he 
must have watched the dawn growing brighter and bright- 
er, and the delight with which at length he scrambled up 
a neighboring height to catch a glimpse of the orb still 
hidden at the level of the deck. " I saw him once more, 
and from a projecting crag nestled in the sunshine. It 
was like bathing in perfumed water." 

When wintering in the far north, Captain Sherard Osborn 
thus describes the return of the sun after an absence of 
66 days. On February 7th " the stentorian lungs of the 
Resolute' s boatswain hailed to say the sun was in sight 
from the mast-head ; and in all the vessels the rigging was 
soon manned to get the first glimpse of the returning god 
of day. Slowly it rose ; and loud and hearty cheers 
greeted the return of an orb which those without the frozen 
zone do not half appreciate because he is always with 
them. For a whole hour we feasted ourselves admiring 
the sphere of fire." 

Light is one of the best and cheapest of Nature's tonics, 
and, unless it be habitually absorbed, neither animal nor 
vegetable can permanently prosper. Except in a compar- 
atively narrow belt round the poles, this needful medica- 
ment is poured out at short intervals profusely over the 
world, and streams into every dwelling where it is not re- 
pelled by ignorance or folly. In man the habitual absence 
of sufficient light proclaims itself in the wan cheek and 
bloodless lip ; and in plants, by the general want of green 



Light and Darkness. 97 

coloring matter. The blood that has been long shut off 
from the renovating influence of sunlight-air may circulate 
through the various organs, but it lacks the power to im- 
part to them a healthy vigor. In the night-time less car- 
bon is expired from the lungs, and the purification of the 
blood, therefore, goes on less actively than during the day. 
The inhabitants of towns, where light is more or less ex- 
cluded by lofty streets, are pale and feeble when compared 
with country cottages, although their food may be both 
better and more abundant. Those who pass their days in 
dark alleys, or in the basement dens of crowded cities, 
seldom enjoy perfect health ; and this is due not less, per- 
haps, to the w^ant of light than to the want of air. Where 
light is defective elasticity forsakes both mind and body, 
and the spirits of few are so buoyant as to be altogether 
insensible to the difference between a bright and a dull 
day. In the weary polar night there is always a strug- 
gle against the depressing influence of darkness. When 
Kane, wintering in Smith's Sound, saw his crew drooping 
and dying round him, he probably did not err in attributing 
the calamity less to the want of good provisions than to 
the want of light. His dogs, too, perished one after the 
other with strange, anomalous symptoms which he attrib- 
uted to the same cause, and he looked forward, with con- 
fidence to the return of sunlight as the charm that was to 
stay the pestilence. 

It would even appear that some plants, acted on by 
light, give ofl" that mysterious kind of modified oxygen, 
termed ozone, which is believed to contribute so peculiarly 
to the healthy condition of the atmosphere. Nor is the 
pervading influence of light unfelt even in the inorganic 
world. To light we owe the beauties of photography ; 
and many other chemical actions can go on only under its 
stimulus. 

" And God said. Let there be Light." Who can ade- 
quately appreciate the evidences of Power, Wisdom, and 
7 



gS Light and Darkness, 

Beneficence crowded into this glorious creation, and how 
Kttle do they comprehend its full value who see nothing 
in it beyond its convenience or its beauty ! Light is an 
essential condition of animated nature — the pivot on 
which life turns. All that lives upon the earth lives by 
light. Without it plants could not grow, or assimilate 
their food, or breathe, or purify the air ; and, without 
plants, animals must perish. From the mineral kingdom 
alone the food-supplies of the whole world are ultimately 
renewed, and plants are the appointed channels through 
which those supplies must pass. The vegetable organism 
rakes them together, gathers them up, and hands them 
over to animals in a state fit for food. " If," says Pro- 
fessor Draper, " we expose some clear spring water to the 
sunshine, though it may have been clear and transparent 
at first, it presently begins to assume a greenish tint, and 
after a while flocks of greenish matter collect on the sides 
of the vessel in which it is contained." This first addition 
to organized life is won by the power of Light out of the 
inorganic atoms round the germ ; it is, as it were, the mi- 
nute, base-material out of which the fabric of life is woven. 
" If the observation be made in a stream of water, the 
current of which runs slowly, it will be discovered that 
the green matter serves as food for thousands of aquatic 
insects which make their habitation in it." Next come 
fishes to snap up the insects, birds may seize upon the 
iishes, and both serve as food to man. In endless variety, 
and often through a much longer chain, some such general 
" succession of nutrition " is always going on. The whole 
movement was started by a beam of light ! 

Light is truly one of the great " Powers of the Lord." 
It summons the whole plantal world to labor in the purifi- 
cation of the air, and it regulates the hours of work. The 
wages it gives to plants for their willing service is their 
daily food of carbon. Hardly had the green matter in 
the stream begun to form under the influence of sunlight 



Light and Darkness. 99 

than it commenced the manufacture of pure air for the use 
of man, and in token of its activity it was gemmed all over 
with bells of vital oxygen. Land plants are no less busy 
in the same task, although their labor is necessarily invisi- 
ble. Thus by the aid of Light no plant is idle, nor is it 
useless in Nature's economy, though it may be unseen. 
Every scattered leaf and blade of grass has its appointed 
task, and every ray of light that falls upon them helps on 
the life of the world. 
This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes. — Ps. cxviii. 




WATERS ABOVE THE FIRMAMENT, 




Oye 'Waters that he above the Firmament^ bless ye the Lord: 
praise Him ^ and magnify Him for enjer. 



HE word Firmament is obviously used here in the 
same sense in which it is employed in the ist 



Salil chapter of Genesis. It is that space which im- 



mediately invests the earth, and which interposes between 
the waters which are below and those which are above it, 
or between seas and clouds. The Scriptures abound with 
imagery derived from this source. Clouds shut out the 
bright sun — they were therefore emblems of gloom and 
sorrow ; at other times they sheltered plant and beast 
from his scorching rays, and they were then the symbols 
of tender care and protection. Of old, too, as now, poets 
turned toward the clouds for some of their grandest meta- 
phors. The Psalmist says, " The Lord maketh the clouds 
his chariot ; " and when the inspired writer of the Revela- 
tion exclaims, " Behold He cometh with clouds," the ex- 
pression symbolizes both grandeur and majesty. 

Clouds are among the first of the objects invoked in 
the hymn ; and they are twice mentioned ; once by them- 
selves, as the " Watfers above the Firmament," and again 
in another verse in connection with lightning. The prom- 
inence thus given to them accords with their importance 
in countries like Judea and Mesopotamia, where droughts 
are sometimes severely felt. Clouds, therefore, were 
watched for eagerly and anxiously, as signs that the 
parched earth was about to be blessed with refreshing 
rain. Unhappy the regions where " the waters " never 



Waters above the Firmament, loi 

collect " above the firmament." There " the clouds drop 
no fatness," and the land loosens into sterile sand. 

In our own country, and still more in hot climates, 
clouds often interpose as a friendly shield between sun and 
earth, to check excessive evaporation from the one, and to 
ward off the too scorching rays of the other. Without 
this protection the surface of the soil would dry up, roots 
would find no moisture, plants would languish or wither, 
and cattle might perish for want of water. 

The vapor issuing from the spout of a' tea-kettle sup- 
plies a favorite illustration of the theory of clouds, or they 
may be studied on a larger and very beautiful scale as they 
are developed from the funnel of a locomotive. With 
every puff of the engine a quantity of steam is driven into 
the air. It will be noticed that this steam is invisible at 
the moment of its escape, and when it has as yet scarcely 
cleared the funnel ; then it is quickly condensed into a 
white cloud ; and, lastly, this cloud itself disappears. A 
moment's attention to these three points will unfold to us 
much that is interesting in cloud-philosophy. It is well 
known that, when water is heated to a temperature of 212° 
Fahrenheit, it rapidly passes into invisible steam. The 
steam produced by the engine boiler was, therefore, as 
transparent as air on escaping into the funnel. But when 
steam is cooled below the temperature of 212° Fahrenheit 
it is condensed into vapor ; hence the white cloud which 
the invisible steam of the locomotive formed on coming 
into contact with the colder air around it. Finally, we 
observed that as this cloud was diffused more widely 
through the air it dissolved and vanished. 

This last fact proves that the atmosphere has the prop- 
erty of absorbing or dissolving moisture, which it retains 
in an invisible state. Air, indeed, always contains an ad- 
mixture of moisture, though the quantity is continually 
varying. The warmer the air, the greater is its capacity to 
take up water in this invisible state ; on the other hand, 



I02 Waters above the Firmament, 

the colder the air, the less moisture it can hold. It fol- 
lows that the atmosphere of the tropics is much more 
loaded with vapor than that of temperate regions ; while 
this latter, in its turn, contains more moisture than the air 
of higher latitudes. We speak of " a dry air," but the 
expression is only relatively correct. There is always 
enough of water even in the dryest air to moisten saline 
substances that are deliquescent ; and every body has ob- 
served the streams condensed from unseen vapor which 
soon begin to trickle down the sides of a bottle of iced 
water brought into a room. Few people, however, would 
have expected to find that a cube of air measuring twenty 
yards each way and at a temperature of 68° Fahrenheit, 
is capable of taking up no less than 252 lbs. of water 
before it reaches the point of saturation. From this it 
may be imagined how enormous the quantity of water 
must be which is suspended invisibly in the entire atmos- 
phere of the world. 

It is out of this invisible steam per\'-ading the atmos- 
phere that visible vapors or clouds are manufactured. 
When one current of air meets another current colder than 
itself, they intermingle ; and, if the resulting mixture be 
not of a temperature sufficiently high to retain in a state 
of invisibility the moisture that is diffiised through both, 
the excess is necessarily condensed into cloud. The 
cloud itself is composed of particles or drops of water so 
extremely minute that they float in air. But if the con- 
densation be pushed further, the minute drops coalesce 
into larger drops, and rain falls to the earth. On the other 
hand, if warm or dry currents of air happen to set in 
through the cloud, it will be again more or less com- 
pletely dissolved, as was observed in the case of the va- 
por puffed out of the engine-funnel. Hence the continual 
changes going on in clouds — their thinning, thickening, 
enlargement, diminution, and the other alterations of 
form. 



Waters above the Firmament, 103 

The atmosphere owes its moisture to the evaporation 
going on at all temperatures both from land and water, 
and more especially from the great equatorial oceans of the 
globe. In temperate climates, like that of Europe, with 
a mean temperature of 52^-°, the annual evaporation is 
equal to a layer of water 37 inches thick ; but within the 
tropics it is much greater, varying from 80 to 100 inches. 
The great stimulator of evaporation is the sun, and clouds 
check evaporation by intercepting his rays. A calm is less 
favorable to it than a breeze ; in the former, the air rest- 
ing on the water soon gets saturated, and ceases to absorb ; 
but a breeze sweeping over the sea is continually present- 
ing to it new and thirsty portions of air, so that the pro- 
cess goes on with great activity. The water thus sucked 
up is carried off into the atmosphere as invisible vapor or 
steam, which is ultimately condensed into clouds. These 
may be considered as huge aerial tanks or reservoirs filled 
with water handed up by the ever-busy air for the service 
of the earth. When clouds are not condensed in one 
place, the loaded air passes on with its burden to another ; 
but sooner or later it is relieved either by the vanishing of 
the vapor through reabsorption, or by the formation of 
rain. Clouds may, in some degree, be regarded as regula- 
tors of atmospheric moisture, withdrawing it when in ex- 
cess, and yielding it back when moisture is needed. 

Besides supplying all the rain and filling all the rivers 
of the earth, the invisible moisture of the air is essential 
to the well-being both of animal and vegetable life. Were 
the thirsty air not abundantly fed with water from sea and 
land, it would in its eager search for drink suck out the 
moisture from every living thing, and in spite of all pre- 
cautions we should soon pass into the condition of dried- 
up mummies. Our safety lies in the free admixture of 
water with the air, by which its keenness is tempered. 
Nevertheless it is astonishing to mark what care Nature 
has taken to protect the juices of plants and animals from 



I04 Waters above the Firmament. 

this desiccating action, by investing them with coverings 
which are more or less impermeable. 

In respiration the lungs cannot support an air which is 
too dry. When the supply of invisible vapor in a room is 
deficient, unpleasant sensations arise which are relieved 
by softening the air with steam from hot water. A^'hile 
wintering beyond Smith's Sound, Doctor Kane observed 
that his crew suffered from the excessive dryness of the 
air which, in breathing, was sensibly pungent and acrid. 
Nor is the invisible atmospheric vapor less necessary to 
the vegetable kingdom. Plants have the power of absorb- 
ing moisture not only by the roots but also through their 
leaves ; and, in a fairly humid air, the evaporation going 
on from their surface is thus more or less checked or com- 
pensated. But in a too dry air this balance is upset, and 
the leaves droop or wither. The few plants that grow in 
the sandy desert are mainly dependent on the invisible 
moisture of the atmosphere for their supply of water, and 
the same may be said of those plants which live and grow 
when suspended in the air of a hot-house. 

From the remarks just made it will be readily under- 
stood that clouds or wind coming from the north do not 
usually portend rain. The air, in passing southward, has 
its temperature gradually elevated ; and, consequently, its 
power to hold vapor in an invisible state is being con- 
stantly augmented. Hence, not only is there no rain, but 
the clouds themselves are often seized upon by the dry air 
and dissolved. But a south wind, on the contrary, comes 
loaded with the vapor which it sucked up when its temper- 
ature was comparatively high, and its capacity for carry- 
ing invisible moisture great. In travelling northward it 
gradually cools, and the excess of moisture which it can 
no longer hold is condensed into clouds and rain. 

Clouds are habitually less noticed than t] ey deserve to 
be, and the pleasure which their contemplation is so well 
calculated to afford is too often lost from neglect. On 



Waters above the Firmament, 105 

fitting occasions cloud-gazing is no unworthy distraction 
wherewith to occupy a few of the fragments of time ; and 
it belongs to those enjoyments which are all the more 
valuable because they so often lie within our reach. 
There is solid pleasure in letting our eyes lead fancy away 
among the mazes of cloudland. What endless variety of 
form ! The cirrhoid groups — how light, feathery, placid, 
gentle, and cheery ! The bulky cumulus — stately, som- 
bre, threatening ! What is there grand in Nature or in 
imagination which is not to be found among them ? There 
are mountains and rocks, peaks and precipices, of which 
the aiguilles and domes of the Alps are but pigmy models, 
castles and cities, torrents and waterfalls ! Imagination 
itself is beggared. Beautiful shapes float before our eyes 
for which we strive in vain to find a name. Under our 
gaze they melt, and change, and recombine, as if to show 
the limitless fancy of exuberant Nature. What colors ! — 
,the softest, the gravest, the richest, the brightest — hues 
of lead, copper, silver, and gold — all on a scale which 
mocks the rest of Nature's painting. AVhat masses and 
magnitudes ! Mounds of vapor, built up out of specky 
fragments, and rolled up the vault of the firmament by the 
power of the sun. In repose clouds are the emblem of 
majesty, but, driven before the gale, they are the symbol 
of force that is irresistible. " His strength is in the 
clouds ! " When the vapory masses are burnished by the 
rays of the setting sun, we feel that the Psalmist, in call- 
ing them the " chariot of the Lord," has chosen for his 
metaphor the most gorgeous object that was to be found 
within the wide limits of the universe. 

Thy mercy, O Lord, reacheth unto the Heavens, — and Thy faithfulness 
unto the Clouds. — Ps. xxxvi. 



LIGHTNING AND CLOUDS. 

O ye Lightnings and Clouds^ bless ye the Lord t praise Him^ and 
magnify Him for e'ver. 



||IKE other natural forces, lightning might with 
propriety have been considered among the " Pow- 
^Ml ers of the Lord ; " but, from its being specially 
invoked, in conjunction with clouds, in a separate verse, 
we are reminded of the great part it plays in warm 
climates, and of the beneficent office it performs. Light- 
ning, or Electricity, is believed to be a form of heat ; but, 
whether it be essentially convertible into and identical 
with other great powers of motion, such as chemical force 
and life, we need not here discuss. The prevailing- theory 
respecting its nature — one which at least harmonizes well 
with most of the phenomena it presents — is that electric- 
ity is of two kinds, positive and negative ; and that these 
flurds always attract each other in order to establish an 
equilibrium. On the other hand, when bodies are charged 
with the same kind of electricity — whether this be posi- 
tive or negative — they repel each other. When a certain 
amount of the one kind of fluid passes toward the other, it 
is attended with a flash of light which is termed the elec- 
tric spark. 

AVe have yet much to learn respecting the work done by 
electricity in the economy of Nature ; but, both from its 
universal diffusion and from the provision made for its 
production, we may safely assume that the part it plays is 
most important to the welfare of the world. It certainly 
exercises great influence in meteorological phenomena — 



Lightjiing and Clo7ids. 107 

as in the condensation of clouds and rain, the production 
of currents and storms and the aurora borealis — as well 
as in regard to the general sanitary condition of the atmos- 
phere. We know how much our health and the comfort 
of our feelings are affected, even in this country, by the 
electrical state of the atmosphere ; but we can form only 
a faint idea of the intensity of the inconvenience caused 
in hot climates where lightning is more common. The 
thunder-storm, notwithstanding the danger occasionally 
attending it, is there welcomed as a blessing sent to clear 
and purify the air, and restore it to its Avonted salubrity. 

The earth is the great reservoir of electricity, and its 
surface may be considered as a vast electrical apparatus 
on which the fluid is being constantly developed. When 
we desire by artificial means to exhibit the presence of 
electricity, we usually rub glass or sealing-wax with a silk 
handkerchief, or we cause a plate of glass to revolve 
rapidly and rub itself against a piece of silk, as in the 
common electrical machine. So, likewise, in the grand 
machine of Nature, the air is constantly generating elec- 
tricity as it sweeps or rubs over the earth's surface, and 
the fluid thus evolved passes back into the earth or into 
the atmosphere. 

The fluid passing into the air may accumulate unduly j 
and the balance between the atmosphere and the earth 
being upset, Nature steps in and takes means to restore 
the equilibrium. With this intent, copious rains charged 
with electricity sometimes draw off the excess to the great 
resei'voir ; but when the case is beyond this mode of re- 
lief, the firmament is filled with thunder-clouds from which 
dart the sparks that flash toward the earth. The same 
kind of action happens when neighboring clouds are dif- 
ferently charged, and the balance is restored by the pas- 
sage of electricity from one to the other, as shown in the 
vivid sheet-lightning. 

There are some substances — such as metals and water 



io8 Lightning and Clouds, 

— that are called " good conductors," because electricity 
passes easily through them ; and there are other substances 

— such as glass or dry air — that are called " bad con- 
ductors," because electricity passes through them with dif- 
ficulty. In running off through the former the fluid seems 
gentle and manageable ; but in forcing a passage through 
the latter it tears and destroys. Thus the wire which con- 
ducts into the earth the discharge of an electric machine 
may be held safely in the hand. The fluid will pursue its 
easy course through the wire to the ground, and will not 
turn aside to enter the hand and give a shock to the body 
by forcing its way through so bad a conductor. On this 
simple fact depends the principle of the lightning-rod. In 
its flight toward the earth the lightning will avoid a bad 
conductor, and select a good one, if it is to be had ; and 
thus it will spare the house or the tower so long as there 
is a sufficient iron rod attached through which it may 
descend to the earth. In this way the electric discharge, 
which would have shattered the " bad conducting " tower, 
glides easily, gently, and safely past it into the ground. 
Formerly people dreaded to enter a smith's forge during a 
thunder-storm ; but now, being better informed, they 
wisely direct their steps toward it, w^ell knowing that they 
cannot be in a safer position than when surrounded by 
masses of iron, that is, with good conductors in contact 
with the ground. 

As there are comparatively few places which can be 
artificially protected by lightning-rods. Providence, ever 
wise and kind, has made various natural arrangements to 
diminish the danger by which we should otherwise be 
surrounded during every thunder-storm. Thus it so hap- 
pens that water, whether in the form of liquid or of vapor, 
promotes the conducting qualities of bodies. How fitly, 
therefore, in this hymn has lightning been associated with 
clouds ! Out of the clouds comes the danger, — out of 
the clouds, too, comes the water which helps to avert it 



Light7ii7tg and Clouds. 109 

from us. Dry air is a bad conductor, and favors undue 
electrical accumulations ; but moist air is a good con- 
ductor, and drains the fluid harmlessly from the atmos- 
phere. Each big, round drop of rain, as it falls, becomes 
freighted with some of the superabundant electricity, and 
carries it off in safety to the earth. The falling torrent, 
moreover, soaks house and tower, tree and shrub, coats 
and other vestments, and thus adds to the facility with 
which they conduct the fluid harmlessly from the air. If 
caught, therefore, in a thunder-storm and drenched to the 
skin, let us console ourselves with the thought that we are 
thus much safer than we were a few minutes before when 
our clothes were dry. 

These means of safety apply chiefly to the thunder- 
storm itself — to the time when, an undue accumulation 
having occurred, the balance must be redressed even at 
the cost of danger. But Providence has not forgotten to 
take precautions by which undue accumulation, though 
not absolutely prevented, is at least rendered infinitely 
more rare than it otherwise would be had no such ar- 
rangement existed. The world is, in point of fact, studded 
all over with safeguards against disturbance in the elec- 
tric equilibrium between the atmosphere and the earth. 
On this subject a recent writer has well observed that 
"God has made a harmless conductor in every pointed 
leaf, every twig, every blade of grass. It is said that a 
common blade of grass, pointed with Nature's workman- 
ship, is three times as effectual as the finest cambric 
needle, and a single twig is far more efficient than the 
metallic points of the best constructed rod. What then 
must be the agency of a single forest in disarming the 
forces of the storms of their terrors .'' — while the same Al- 
mighty hand has made rain-drops and snow-flakes to be 
conductors, bridges for the lightning in the clouds, alike, 
it seems, proclaiming the mercy and the majesty of the 
Almighty hand." 

The Three Children knew well the gladness with which, 



no Lighlning and Clouds. 

toward the end of September, the lightning was welcomed 
in their beloved Judea. " He maketh lightning for rain," 
exactly expressed the message which it brought from the 
sky. It indicated that the rule of the scorching sun was 
drawing to an end, and that the " early rains " were about 
to fall and refresh the earth, and prepare it for the seed. 
The practically small danger that might attend the flash 
was forgotten in the paramount blessing of which it was the 
harbinger. Yet it must be confessed that, notwithstand- 
ing the conviction of its utility, feelings allied to dread 
attend the explosions of the lightning-cloud ; and nothing 
else in Nature brings so home to our minds the conviction 
that we live in the midst of peril. After every precaution 
for safety has been taken, what can preserve us from the 
fatal 'flash but the ever-vigilant hand of God ,'' Lightning 
seems to be the very type of those messengers of " sudden 
death " from which we pray the Good Lord to deliver us. 
The close air that precedes the storm stifles and depresses. 
Dumb creatures stand anxiously about, utter their cries 
of fear, and seem to recognize instinctively that the forces 
of Nature are in conflict. The clouds advance, roll up to- 
gether, and thicken into lurid masses. The sun is walled 
out from the earth, and something less dark but more op- 
pressive than the night lies heavily upon us. The dart 
we see cleaving through the blackness is winged with 
destruction ; its course is wild and uncertain, its stroke is 
sudden, the death it deals is instantaneous. The sound- 
ing of the thunder is awful. From its lowest mutterings, 
scarcely breaking on the ear from afar, up to its loudest 
crash it is ever portentous, and no human heart can listen 
to it without emotion. The voice speaks to all, and it 
brings a double message : — it tells us that death is in the 
air ; but it also recalls to us the thought that our lives are 
in God's keeping, without whose will the lightning cannot 
hurt us. 

Nevertheless, though I am sometimes afraid, yet put I my trust in 
Thee. — Ps. Ivi. 




SHOWERS AND DEW, 

O ye Shotuers^and De^w, bless ye the Lord : praise Him^ and 
magnify Him for e-ver. 

HE prominence given in this hymn to water in all 
its forms is very remarkable, but is easily under- 
stood when we recollect that the Three Hebrews 
were chiefly familiar with " seasonal " countries. Such 
districts are strikingly and visibly dependent on the timely 
supply of Dew, Rain, and River water, to preserve them 
from the effects of the excessive droughts which usually 
set in at certain periods of the year. We read in Script- 
ure of the " early " and the " latter " rain. The early or, 
as it was sometimes called, the " former " rain began to 
be abundant in October, and continued to fall more or 
less until Christmas. It then either ceased altogether, or 
became very moderate until spring, when it once more 
poured down copiously as the " latter " rain. The hus- 
bandman profited by the first of these periods to sow the 
seed which was to germinate and stand the winter ; while 
the time that followed the " latter " rain was equally favoi- 
able to the rapid growth and ripening of the harvest. If 
few showers fell at those seasons, the hopes of the hus- 
bandman for a good crop were sure to be disappointed, 
for then, as now, little or no rain was to be expected dur- 
ing the summer. 

There are few natural objects more frequently used as 
symbols in Scripture than rain and dew, and they invari- 
ably represent what is good and beneficent. The most 
blessed of all events — the coming of the Saviour, is thus 



112 Showers and Dew. 

foreshadowed by the Psalmist, — " He shall come down 
like rain upon the mown grass ; as showers that water the 
earth." On various occasions rain represents the Cre- 
ator's benignity toward man ; while the force of the ex- 
pression in Deuteronomy, chap. 32, " My doctrine shall 
drop as the rain," is derived from its enriching and life- 
giving virtue. 

Besides bestowing fertility on the soil, rain cleanses and 
purifies both the land and the atmosphere. From the latter 
it often safely conducts the electricity which is accumulat- 
ing unduly, and by thus restoring the equilibrium between 
the air and the earth renders the thunder-storm unnec- 
essary. Rain also relieves the air of some of its superflu- 
ous carbonic acid, which it hands down to the rootlets of 
the plants ; and, by means of its admixture with this acid, 
the surface water is enabled to take up a certain quantity 
of lime, which it transports down rill and river into the sea 
to furnish myriads of creatures with materials out of 
which to build their shells. Rain sweeps down into the 
plains the weather-worn particles of rock which are to form 
new soil ; and, while it washes the surface of mountain 
and valley, street and house, it increases the general salu- 
brity by clearing off the minute rubbish of the world. 

When we consider the enormous volume of water which 
every year is rolled down into the sea by the rivers and 
rivulets of the earth, it is not to be wondered at that the 
annual rainfall which feeds them should be computed to 
have a bulk equal to 186,240 cubic imperial miles. If 
spread equally over the land of the globe — 50 million 
square miles — this rain would cover it with water to a 
depth of three feet. All this huge mass of water comes 
originally from the ocean, whence it is lifted up into the 
atmosphere by the agency of evaporation ; and as the 
southern hemisphere has a water-surface of 75 millions of 
miles, while that of the northern is only 25 millions, it fol- 
lows that there is a much greater quantity sucked up on 



Showers and Dew, ^ 113 

the south than on the north side of the Equator. As it is 
chiefly for the sake of the land that rain may be said to 
fall, and as the land so greatly predominates in the north- 
ern hemisphere, it might at first sight appear that Nature 
had for once committed a blunder in thus making the 
greatest provision for rain in that hemisphere where, from 
the comparative scarcity of land, the smallest supply is 
needed. But on looking more closely we shall see that 
every thing is harmonized through one of those marvelous 
adjustments by which the whole economy of the universe 
is characterized. 

A supply of water greater than what is locally required 
being thus drawn up into the atmosphere lying over the 
Southern Ocean, the problem is how to convey it into the 
northern hemisphere, where the chief masses of land lie, 
and where more rain is needed than can be obtained by 
evaporation.-* The machinery used in this gigantic task 
is found in the great atmospheric currents, which, though 
subject to occasional disturbance, do yet in the main act 
with perfect regularity. The chief evaporation from the 
Southern Ocean takes place when the sun is to the south 
of the Equator, and therefore when winter reigns in the 
northern hemisphere. At this season, the cold in high 
northern latitudes is most intense, and the heavy air has 
naturally its greatest tendency to pass toward the Equa- 
tor. The air thus displaced over the Southern Ocean rises, 
charged with heat and moisture, into the upper regions of 
the atmosphere, and there forms a current whose general 
direction is northward, or contrary to the polar current be- 
neath it. By this circulation of currents not only is the 
equilibrium of the air itself maintained, but a most neces- 
sary distribution of water and heat is likewise effected. 
One part of the globe which has an abundance is made to 
give to another part the supplies that are naturally wanted. 
Thus we can fancy the atmosphere to be a mighty ship 
indefatigably carrying on the beneficent commerce of Na- 
8 



1 14 Showers and Dew. 

ture. Setting out from the bleak north, she sweeps round 
the earth to the regions of the south, refreshing them with 
cool, dry air ; and then, having laid in her cargo of heat 
and moisture, she starts without delay upon her return 
voyage, dispensing as she goes the blessings of warmth 
and rain. 

The cause of this regular precipitation may be readily 
understood by what has been said in regard to clouds. 
The tropical air, as it travels north, becomes colder and 
colder, and therefore its capacity to hold moisture becomes 
less and less. Hence it is forced at every stage to let go, 
in the shape of clouds and rain, the excess of moisture 
which it can no longer hold in solution ; and as every 
drop of rain, on being condensed from invisible vapor or 
steam, gives out as much latent heat as would raise by 
one degree Fahrenheit the temperature of 1030 drops of 
water, a powerful influence in moderating the rigor of 
northern climates is exerted. The last remnants of moist- 
ure are squeezed from the air by the hard grip of the polar 
regions, where, as snow or ice, it adds to the desolation of 
those high latitudes. To any one contemplating the great 
arctic glaciers it must be curious to think, that much 
of the water there piled up in ice has been sucked up 
amid the warmth and sunshine of the distant Southern 
Ocean. The quantity of water thus carried and of heat 
thus diffused by the agency of the atmosphere almost ex- 
ceeds belief, and ranks the operation among the greatest 
of those physical contrivances by which the welfare of the 
world is maintained. Wonderful Power of the air — work- 
ing day and night, noiselessly, invisibly — mighty link in 
the water-circulation of the globe — " dropping fatness " 
over the earth, and with unerring instinct giving to it from 
year to year the exact supply that is needful. 

In tropical countries, where a hot temperature prevails, 
a proportionately large allowance of rain is needed for 
vegetation. Notwithstanding the liberal supplies sent off 



Showers and Dew, 115 

toward north and south, enoGgh is provided through the 
great capacity possessed by warm air for holding invisible 
vapor in suspension ; and, when rain does occur, the 
quantity of water condensed is larger and the downpour 
heavier than in climates lying beyond. From this cause 
the annual rainfall also is usually much greater. By way 
of comparison it may be stated, that while the average 
rainfall of Great Britain is nearly 28 inches, that of the 
Equator, according to Humboldt, is 96 inches. In some 
parts of South America and elsewhere this amount is 
greatly exceeded. At Maranhao, in Brazil, the rainfall 
has been estimated at 2 8of inches. At Cherraponjie, in 
India, the enormous quantity of 605 1- inches have been 
known to fall during the southwest monsoon, which gives 
to this place the distinction of probably having one of 
the wettest climates in the world. 

Within the tropics the year is divided into the dry and 
the rainy seasons. The dry corresponds to the winter of 
higher latitudes, during which plants take their annual 
rest. In the rainy season showers and sunshine alternate, 
and vegetable life is stimulated into its most luxuriant 
growth. The vegetation of warm countries, being habitu- 
ated to abundant moisture, feels with corresponding se- 
verity any material diminution in the supply. Thus, at 
Bombay, the annual average rainfall may be taken at 80 
inches; but in 1824 not more than 34 inches fell — an 
amount not differing much from our own yearly supply 
— and the consequences were direful famine and pesti- 
lence. 

He whose lot has been cast in a temperate climate, 
where showers and sunshine chase each other throughout 
the year, can hardly realize the eagerness with which the 
return of the rain is longed for in seasonal regions. Lis- 
ten to " old Indians " describing the anxiety with which 
they have watched for the coming of the monsoon, and 
the ecstacy with which they have hailed its arrival. Some 



ii6 Showers and Dew, 

friends may be gathered together within doors — languid, 
drooping, and spiritless. The drought of the preceding 
dry months has almost desiccated them. Every exertion 
is a trouble and thinking a fatigue ; every thing around 
pants and fades. Suddenly — not the sound, but — the 
smell of the coming flood is sniffed in the air. Eyes 
brighten, muscles begin to be braced, the brain resumes 
its energy, and in a few minutes afterward — splash and 
patter — the rain is once more dashing to the ground. 
Tanks, buckets, jugs — any thing that will hold it — are 
spread out to be filled with the precious element. Not 
many hours elapse before the parched earth responds, as 
if by magic, to the blessing, and with renewed vigor 
clothes itself in green. 

Some of the districts inhabited by our cousins in Aus- 
tralia are liable to suffer from extreme drought, when the 
river-courses dry up and the herds run the risk of perish- 
ing. In many places it would seem as if Providence had 
designedly mitigated this climatic evil by means of the 
deep hollows or wells which occur so frequently in the 
course of the streams. Thus the general bed may be dry, 
but these natural tanks continue to hold a supply of 
water ; and, as if still more plainly to indicate their benefi- 
cent design, the surface of the reservoir itself often be- 
comes covered with a thick coating of vegetation, which, 
by interposing a screen between the water and the sun, 
tends to prevent loss by evaporation. 

Rain is so linked with fertility as almost to be synony- 
mous with it, and where none falls there the desert must 
be. The exceptions to this rule are rare, and even these 
are seeming rather than real. Thus Egypt may be de- 
scribed as a rainless country ; but the inundation of the 
Nile stands in the place of rain, and, in covering the land 
with its rich waters, deposits a soil of surpassing fertility. 
Egypt could no more be fertile without water than other 
countries, and of this the proof lies close at hand, for 



Showers and Dew, 117 

immediately beyond the line of inundation the desert 
begins. The rains which enrich Egypt actually fall in 
Abyssinia, whence they are conveyed by the Nile as if by 
a channel of irrigation. The great deserts of the world 
are emphatically the rainless districts, and they stretch in 
an almost continuous belt across the centre of the old 
world. Beginning to the south of Morocco, not far from 
the Atlantic, they traverse wide regions lying beyond Al- 
giers and Tunis ; they next cross Egypt into Arabia ; and 
thence passing onward through Asia by the great deserts 
of Tartary, Thibet, and Mongolia, they cease not until 
they have almost touched the shores of the Pacific. The 
moisture originally existing in the winds which blew from 
the sea toward these deserts has either been expended 
before the winds reached them ; or, if a portion of the 
moisture still remain in the atmosphere, it is from local 
heat and dryness carried across their surface without pre- 
cipitation. Let us take the desert lying to the north of 
the Himalayas as an illustration. During the winter half 
of the year the prevailing wind blows from the north and 
east. Being cold, it has little " capacity " for moisture j 
in other words, it is a dry wind ; and as it travels south 
and gets warmer, its tendency is rather to absorb moisture 
from the sand than to let it fall. During the summer half 
of the year, on the other hand, the prevailing wind is 
from the southwest. Loaded with vapor gathered from 
the Indian Ocean, it sweeps over Hindostan, dropping 
rain abundantly in its course ; and then, in crossing over 
the snowy ridges of the Himalayas, most of the remaining 
water is condensed out of it ; — the monsoon sponge has 
been squeezed nearly dry. In this state it descends upon 
the plains of the desert ; where the sand, heated as in an 
oven by the summer's sun, is not in a condition to draw 
down the remnants of moisture still existing in the air, 
and so they pass onward to the north. Thus no " fat- 
ness" is dropped upon those sands, which are surely 



ii8 Showers and Dew. 

doomed to barrenness so long as the present cosmical 
arrangements continue. 

How many there are who thoughtlessly cry out against 
the climate of this favored land, and forget to weigh its 
many advantages against its few drawbacks. In regard 
to heat and moisture, it may be said with truth, that we 
are equally removed from extremes. We neither bake in 
the sun nearly all the year round, like the children of the 
desert ; nor are we drenched in ever-falling rain, like the 
Indians of western Patagonia ; neither are we dried up 
for one half of the year, and soaked in rain during the 
other, like the people of many tropical countries. With 
us, on the whole, rain and sunshine are well balanced ; 
while the frequent changes enhance our perception of the 
beauty and the services of both. To our frequent, but 
seldom persistent, rains we owe it that nowhere is verdure 
finer, and that in few places is it less exposed to the de- 
structive influences of extreme drought. Even in gloomy 
winter, when rain sometimes falls more abundantly than 
is consistent with comfort, there is consolation in the 
thought that the rain which descends at that season of the 
year, escaping the devouring rays of the sun, will sink 
deeply into the soil and fill the ample reservoirs of the 
earth with water. Thence, in the coming days of the hot 
summer, it will issue bright and sparkling to feed the 
springs and rivulets that glisten over the land and delight 
us with their freshness. 

Dew may be considered as a kind of supplemental rain, 
depending on the same cause, namely, a condensation of 
moisture from the atmosphere. There is, however, this 
difference between them, that, while rain is formed at a 
greater or less height in the air, dew is formed on the sur- 
face of the ground. 

We need scarcely remind the reader that air — even the 
dryest — always contains invisible vapor. During the day 
the earth and the air correspond sufficiently in tempera- 



Showers and Dew. 119 

ture to prevent precipitation. But as the sun begins to 
set, the earth, losing its heat by radiation, suddenly cools, 
and condenses out of the air in contact with it a portion 
of its invisible vapor. Hence the night dew. After dawn 
the returning sun, by again warming the air, enables it to 
take up moisture ; and then the land, having still the cold- 
ness of night upon it, immediately condenses this vapor 
into water. Hence the morning dew. 

"Whatever favors the rapid cooling of the earth's surface 
promotes the formation of dew. In cloudy weather heat 
is radiated as usual from the earth after sunset, but it is 
intercepted by the clouds, and radiated back toward the 
earth. The temperature of the latter, therefore, does not 
fall so much, and little dew is formed. But in clear 
weather the earth rapidly radiates its heat into space, and 
there are no clouds interposed to radiate it back. Hence 
the earth cools quickly and much dew falls. 

When gardeners cover up their plants on bright even- 
ings they act in accordance with scientific principles. The 
matting prevents radiation from the earth ; or, rather, the 
matting takes the place of clouds, and gives back to the 
earth much of the heat it receives. In this manner the 
atmosphere round the plants retains an equable tempera- 
ture. 

Dew is twice specially introduced into the Benedicite, 
from which we may infer the extreme importance attached 
to it in the countries with which the Three Children were 
familiar. In most parts of western Asia little rain falls 
from April to September, and during this long period of 
drought the earth is dependent upon dew for the scanty 
supply of moisture it receives. How providential that, 
by the ordination of the All-wise Creator, dew should be 
most abundant precisely at that season of the year when 
the supply of moisture from other sources is most apt to 
fail. Scripture abounds in allusions to dew which, like 
rain, is always associated with what is good and benefi- 



I20 Showers and Dew, 

cent The " dews of Hermon " blessed the land where 
they fell, and the prosperity they brought passed into a 
proverb. When a patriarch wished to bestow his blessing, 
he prayed that " God might give of the dews of heaven ; " 
on the other hand, there could be no more withering curse 
than what was implied in their withdrawal. " Ye moun- 
tains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be 
rain upon you." 

Although the quantity of water which is annually de- 
posited as dew in this country is small in comparison to 
the rainfall, still it is by no means inconsiderable. Dr. 
Dal ton has estimated it at five inches, or more than 22 
billions of tons of water. In our moist climate it is nat- 
urally of less importance than in Syria or Mesopotamia ; 
nevertheless it is extremely serviceable, and in autumn, 
more especially, the grass would often wither were it not 
for its daily steeping in dew. 

From what has been said it will be perceived that, 
though we commonly speak of dew " drops," dew does 
not really " drop " from the sky, but forms upon the sur- 
faces where it is found. Yet which of us would consent 
to surrender an expression that has been endeared to us 
by familiar associations since childhood t Dew " drops " 
create for us the most perfect diamond-gardens in the 
world. Well may they challenge not a lenient but a rigor- 
ous comparison with their rivals. No diamonds could be 
brighter, more sparkling, or play more fancifully with the 
rainbow colors of light. How incomparably finer, too, the 
setting ! The rare and costly mineral is mostly to be seen 
in the worn atmosphere of crowded rooms, and, like an 
artificial beauty, requires the skillful hand for its display. 
Its brightness pales before the light of day, and needs the 
garish lamp to stimulate its sparkling. But the diamonds 
of the garden or the meadow are perfect from Nature^s 
hand. They are set with boundless profusion on a ground 
pf choicest green, and no art can improve their new-bom 



Showers and Dew, 



121 



loveliness. They are to be seen only in the fresh air of 
the morn, and the light that suits them best is the pure 
light of heaven. 

Thou, God sentest a gracious rain upon thine inheritance, and refresh- 
edst it when it was weary. — Ps. Ixviii. 




WELLS, 

O ye Wells ^ bless ye the Lord: praise Him^ and magnify Him for 

e'ver. 




]N a song of thankfulness and praise uttered by 
children of the East to the Giver of blessings, it 



I was to be expected that the " springing wells " of 
the earth would not be forgotten. Almost always the 
comfort, and sometimes even the existence of whole com- 
munities are there dependent on them. In many districts 
of southwestern Asia rain is scarcely seen from April to 
September. The " latter rains " which fell in spring have 
run off, or been absorbed, or evaporated, and the land, 
thirsty and parched, gathers only its precarious supply of 
dew. The smaller streams and rivulets are dry also, and 
the people must then depend on such supplies as wells 
can afford for all the purposes of the household. Hence 
the prevalence of wells and fountains in the East. In the 
towns most of the fountains are public ; other wells are 
private property, from which considerable profit is derived 
by the sale of water in dry seasons. 

He who dwells amid the civilization of the West can 
scarcely realize the thankfulness with which wells inspire 
the mind of the Oriental. In the sandy deserts they are 
of the first necessity, forming as it were the stepping-stones 
by which travellers direct their route. Districts are named 
from their wells. Their geological history is often myste- 
rious, but nothing can be more obvious than that they are 
providentially placed for the purpose of making those 
wastes passable. The overflow of the well sinks into the 



Wells, 123 

sand around, and illustrates in a very remarkable manner 
tlie fertilizing power of water. The debris of successive 
vegetations at length creates an oasis of richest soil — an 
island of verdant beauty in the midst of a sea of sand. 
The surface is softly carpeted with grass, while date-trees 
and other kinds of palms beckon the traveler toward it 
from afar, and shade him from the sun. What can be 
more natural than that the pious Arab should approach 
those wells with emotions of thankfulness, or that while 
quenching his thirst he should seldom omit to offer a 
prayer both for him who originally dug the well, and for 
the generous owner who permits it to be so freely used .'* 
It is said that, for the sake of the blessings thus daily 
poured upon his head, the proprietor of a well can seldom 
bring his mind to sell it, unless driven by dire necessity 
to make the sacrifice. To prevent loss by excessive evap- 
oration, as well as choking up by drifting sand, wells in 
the East are usually kept covered, and so precious is the 
water that in many instances they are locked also. To 
poison a well is an act which is .considered to be justified 
only by the extremity of warfare, while its complete de- 
struction is thought to be little less than sacrilege. The 
well is universally held to be a special gift of God intended 
for all his thirsty creatures. 

Holy Scripture abounds in allusions to wells, and noth- 
ing better illustrates the importance attached to them in 
the East from the earliest times than the narrative re- 
corded in the 26th chapter of Genesis. Isaac, forced»by 
famine to leave his country, dwelt in Gerar, and there 
" waxed great : for he had possession of flocks, and pos- 
session of herds, and great store of servants : and the 
Philistines envied him." Then Abimelech the king said 
unto Isaac, " Go from us ; for thou art much mightier 
than we. And Isaac departed thence, and pitched his 
tent in the valley of Gerar, and dwelt there. And Isaac 
digged again the wells of water, which they had digged in 



124 Wells, 

the days of Abraham his father ; for the Philistines had 
stopped them after the death of Abraham : and he called 
their names after the names by which his father had called 
them. And Isaac's servants digged in the valley, and 
found there a well of springing water. And the herdmen 
of Gerar did strive with Isaac's herdmen, saying. The 
water is ours : and he called the name of the well Esek ; 
because they strove with him. And they digged another 
well, and strove for that also : and he called the name of 
it Sitnah," for it was associated with hatred. " And he 
removed from thence and digged another well ; and for 
that they strove not" It was a contest between those 
who dug the well and the herdsmen who possessed the 
territorial right to the water. The possession of a well 
was the necessary complement to the other means of liv- 
ing, and so long as one could not be obtained the tribe 
was obliged to move onward. 

The wells that form in the coral islands of the Pacific 
seem even more strikingly providential than those of the 
desert. Scarcely has the bare rock risen above the waves 
before it begins to possess its well of water. The salt 
ocean is without, and the salt ocean fills the lagoon usually 
included within, yet, on the mere rim of coral rock that 
lies between, fresh water is to be obtained when a hole is 
bored. So generally is this understood by sailors that they 
are in the habit of touching at these solitary spots to fill 
their tanks. Thus, in the creation of what is soon to be 
another island added to the fertile area of the world, wells 
of fresh water are the first provision for the higher forms 
of life which Nature produces. Whence comes this water ? 
The general opinion is, that it freshens itself in filtering 
through from the ocean ; but Darwin, after much attention 
to the subject, considers it to be the mere surface drainage 
of the island. In any case, the fact remains as a striking 
example of providential forethought in thus creating wells 
for the sake, not only of the traders who casually touch 



Wells, 125 

there, but also for the settlers who in process of time come 
to occupy the island. 

Of the rain that drops from the clouds much is at once 
returned into the air by evaporation to keep up the supply 
of atmospheric moisture, while much also passes off as 
surface drainage, battling its way into the nearest brook. 
But after these demands have been satisfied, there still 
remains a third portion which sinks down into the porous 
earth, and commences by subterraneous routes its return 
homeward to the sea. Imagination longs to be able to 
follow the course of those mysterious wanderings, and to 
fill up the gap in the history of the spring which is seen 
bubbling up in the plain from the time when its constitu- 
ent drops fell among the distant mountains. Through 
what curious scenery the source of the future river may 
have been creeping — among what rocks and caverns and 
windings in the secret paths of the earth — what minia- 
ture rapids it may form in regions too deep for human 
ken — now gliding gently along over rocky plateaus, now 
lingering among sands, or in the narrow slits of the strata ! 
And thus the rill may journey on until, wearied with sub- 
terranean gloom, it regains the light of day as the useful 
well or gushing spring, nourishing the earth as it flows, 
and refreshing both man and beast with a constancy of 
supply which often contrasts with the fitful rainfall. 

When it is desired to supply our towns with water we 
do not rest satisfied with converging upon them the con- 
tents of numerous rills by means of an ample conduit. 
During the hot summer days these sources might dry up, 
and the people might thus be left in want. So the dan- 
ger is warded off by storing up water abundantly during 
the rainy season in a reservoir, from which supplies may 
be drawn for the town in times of drought. In this man- 
ner a liberal allowance of water is securely maintained 
independently of the vicissitudes of weather. Now in this 
arrangement we are only imitating the wise example of 



126 Wells, 

Providence. The town which Nature has to supply is the 
whole earth. For this purpose the rainfall is undoubtedly 
her " main," and does the chief part of the work ; but 
rain, though wonderfully regular on the whole, is some- 
times caprfcious in single seasons, and oftener still in the 
different periods of a season. Something supplementary 
was, therefore, needed to husband and equalize the sup- 
ply, and to provide for its regularity independently of the 
varying rainfall. So Nature formed reservoirs of water in 
the earth, which, taken on the whole, are subject to very 
little change. The superficial layers of the crust of the 
earth are in fact one vast storehouse of water, for moisture 
pervades them through and through. We habitually 
speak of " the dry rock ; " but even the dryest rock con- 
tains water lodged in it as in a sponge, of which nothing 
less potent than the furnace can deprive it. "Some gran- 
ites," says Professor Ansted, " in their ordinary state con- 
tain a pint and a half in every cubic foot." Limestone 
and marble find room for considerably more. Chalk is 
also highly absorbent, many of its strata being able to 
take up half their bulk of water without even appearing 
to be moist. Ordinary sandstones hold nearly a gallon in 
a cubic foot ; and " in the best building-stones belonging to 
the sandstone group, from four to five pints of water are 
contained in each cubic foot of the stone." " The quan- 
tity of water capable of being held by common loose sea- 
sand amounts to at least two gallons in a cubic foot." 
But the great tanks of the earth are formed more espe- 
cially by layers of sand, which everywhere alternate with 
the harder rocks. Into these the water is constantly 
soaking and accumulating for the supply of wells and 
springs all over the world. AVhile rainy seasons fill these 
reservoirs, the dryest season does not exhaust them ; and 
hence the springs in connection with them appear, like 
the conduits of a well-supplied town, to be independent 
both of rain and drought. 



Wells, 127 

Though Hmestone rocks absorb less than sandstone, 
they carry the water better ; for they are more fissured, 
and their substance is more easily rubbed away or dis- 
solved by the passing current. By this means, chiefly, 
have the famous caverns in the limestone rocks of Adels- 
berg, Derbyshire, and elsewhere been formed. Hence the 
subterranean rivers found in Styria and in various other 
parts of the world. No one who has visited the caves at 
Adelsberg can have forgotten how the Poik, there larger 
and swifter than the Mole where it joins the Thames, 
plunges amid the gloom into the tunneled mountain and 
is lost. Its course no one knows, but bits of wood and 
other pilot substances borne along in its mysterious wan- 
dering proclaim its identity with the Unz, which emerges 
as a full-formed river at Planina, ten miles beyond, on the 
other side of the mountain. At Cong in Ireland, famous 
for its Cross, there is another remarkable example of the 
same kind, where the river joining Loch Corrib and Loch 
Mask rushes through a subterranean channel in the lime- 
stone rocks. To this tendency in the limestone strata to 
fissure and separate into ledges which form underground 
passages we owe what are termed " swallows " in streams. 
Of these we have an example near London in the Mole, 
which partially " hides her diving flood " in traversing the 
picturesque vale of Mickleham ; but a much more perfect 
instance occurs in the wolds of Yorkshire, not far from 
Malton. 

In this moist climate of England a hole dug in the 
ground usually produces, at no great distance from the sur- 
face, a moderate supply of water from the superficial drain- 
age ; but such wells are, of course, much influenced by 
the season, and in periods of drought are apt to dry up 
altogether. By digging deeper, water-bearing strata are 
reached which are more abundantly supplied, as they rep- 
resent the drainage of larger districts of country. If these 
districts lie no higher than the place where the well is 



128 Wells, 

sunk, the water will not rise so as to fill the shaft ; but, on 
the other hand, if the water has flowed down from higher 
districts, it will, under certain circumstances, rise in the 
well to the surface, or even above it, to a height in propor- 
tion to the level where it originally fell. It is believed 
that the Egyptians and Chinese were practically ac- 
quainted with this fact at a very remote period, and the 
excavations that can still be traced attest how extensively 
they turned it to account. Of late years this mode of ob- 
taining water has been largely adopted in Europe, and the 
name Artesian has been generally applied to these wells 
on account of the success which attended the earliest 
efforts made at Artois. Of all the wells of this kind the 
most famous is that of Crenelle, near Paris. 

Geologically considered, Paris occupies a site very sim- 
ilar to that of London. The shaft at Crenelle, therefore, 
first pierced through layers of clay, gravels, and sands 
such as we are familiar with round our own metropolis, 
and then through the chalk, until it reached the underlying 
Green Sand. In the spongy strata of this formation vast 
quantities of water had accumulated by constantly drain- 
ing down into it, as into a cistern, from extensive higher- 
lying districts beyond the chalk. The lateral pressure 
upon the water in this immense tank was therefore enor- 
mous. Its floor was formed of impervious clays or rocks, 
while it was shut in above by a thick lid of chalk. The 
moment the lid was tapped by the borer, up rushed the 
water as if through the pipe of a water-work, reaching not 
only to the surface but spouting into the air to the height 
of 1 20 feet. The supply was at the rate of a million gal- 
lons a day. There are many Artesian wells in London ; 
but the water is obtained from the more superficial strata 
lying above the chalk ; and as the water, therefore, does 
not in most cases rise nearly to the surface, it has to be 
aided or lifted up by supplemental pumps. Artesian wells 
are also common in Liverpool, in the new red sandstone ; 



Wells. 129 

at Cambridge, where the water-bearing strata lie under the 
gault ; and in many other places. 

Now and then it happens that Nature taps these high- 
pressure water-boxes for herself, and the stream rushes up 
through a " bore " of her own making with a force that 
projects it into the air. In the case of the famous Geysers 
in Iceland the projecting force, as pointed out by Sir C. 
Lyell, is due to the pressure of steam acting at intervals, 
somewhat in the same way in which the steam that accu- 
mulates under the lid of a kettle forces the boiling water 
with violence through the spout. Occasionally the force 
may be of a somewhat mixed kind, as in the case of the 
Sprudel at Carlsbad. Although the height to which that 
fountain spouts is not great, the gush of water is large ; 
while the accessories of scenery are such as to produce 
one of the most beautiful and interesting sights to be 
found in Europe. 

The water that sinks into the earth on higher levels, af- 
ter collecting into tricklings, and wandering through chinks 
and over ledges, is ultimately turned by some impenetrable 
obstacle toward the surface, where it breaks forth as a 
sparkling fountain. In no fairer shape does Nature spread 
out her water-treasures before us. How refreshing the 
draught thus obtained at first hand ! How cool in sum- 
mer, how temperate in winter, for it comes from those deep 
regions of the earth which are equally shielded from sun 
and frost. ^Vhat a difference there is between the tame 
water of the " main," and the living crystal of " the source." 
Such a spot is well worthy of a pilgrimage, and adds a 
fresh pleasure to the summer day's ramble. It is like re 
pairing to a garden to eat fruit newly plucked by one's own 
hand from the tree. What sight more tempting when the 
sun is high. How pleasant to play with the clear water, 
and how difficult to pass before a gushing spring without 
lingering for a moment to listen and to look ! 

Springs sometimes partially tell the history of their own 
9 



1 30 Wells, 

wandermgs when they assume the character of " mineral 
waters." The rain that has fallen often becomes charged 
with carbonic acid gas from the air, or from the vegetable 
soil through which it percolates, and, having thus acquired 
the power of dissolving the limestone or the chalk through 
which it has filtered, emerges into day as " hard " or cal- 
careous water. Occasionally its route has lain among iron- 
freighted rocks, sands, or clays, and the ordinary strength- 
giving chalybeate of carbonated iron is prepared ready to 
our hands. Sometimes the water visits the secret labora- 
tories of the earth, where chemical forces are at work on 
decomposing pyrites, from which it brings to us iron in 
a less common form, or in union with sulphuric acid. Or 
it may absorb the gases formed during these decomposi- 
tions, and appear to us as the unsavory but useful sulphur 
well. Again, its course may lie among the salt-bearing 
strata of the earth, where the varying kinds of " saline 
mineral waters " are mixed by Nature herself to benefit 
mankind. Sometimes the subterranean streamlet may 
wander into those heated depths where chemical action is 
forging the materials of the earth into new shapes, or where 
the internal furnace of the globe imparts to the water a 
portion of its own warmth ; and then the streamlet, turned 
in an opposite direction, may be urged toward the surface 
by pressure from below, until it bursts into the world as a 
" hot spring. " 

The water of springs and wells is never met with in a 
state of absolute purity, but the slight admixture of for- 
eign substances usually present, while it does not impair 
general usefulness, is attended with certain special advan- 
tages. By distillation pure water can always be readily 
obtained, and it is then in its most active state. But this 
very condition, so essential to the chemist and the manu- 
facturer, would diminish the utility of water for drinking 
and other domestic purposes. Water would then have 
been prone to dissolve many deleterious substances — such 



Wells, 131 

as lead — from contact with which it is difficult to guard it 
at all times, but on which, in its naturally impure state it 
cannot act. Another valuable " impurity " found in water 
is air, either fixed or common, by which it is rendered 
pleasant and sparkling as a beverage, while at the same 
time it acquires the important property of boiling without 
danger. When water has been carefully deprived of air, it 
may be heated up to 240° Fahrenheit before it begins to 
boil, but it is then apt to pass off suddenly into vapor 
with explosive violence. Let any one try to realize the 
inconvenience which so unmanageable a property would 
have introduced into the kitchen and the manufactory. 
We may here mark with admiration how different quali- 
ties, even to the most minute details, have been impressed 
on substances by the great Creator, with evident fore- 
thought for the comfort and happiness of His creatures. 
In considering the fountains of the earth as blessings 
for which praise and thankfulness are specially due, we 
must not pass from the subject without more particularly 
alluding to those healing virtues with which some of them 
have been endowed. Mineral waters are of the most 
varied character ; and there are, perhaps, few chronic 
forms of disease against which they may not be usefully 
employed at one stage or another. Providence, too, ever 
bountiful as kind, has scattered them profusely over most 
parts of the world, and thousands upon thousands annu- 
ally owe to them the blessing of restored health. They 
are gifts from a source that lies beyond our ken, and mod- 
ern science with all its progress cannot supersede them. 
We know to a nicety the constituents of the most famous 
springs ; they have been analyzed and imitated most per- 
fectly ; but there is a point of difference between the real 
and the artificial which no art can seize. Nature is a 
cunning worker, and in her laboratory she compounds the 
" mineral water " under conditions of which we are ig- 
norant, but from which, nevertheless, are derived special 



132 Wells. 

virtues which similar ingredients mixed artificially never 
acquire. Even in so simple a matter as the manufacture 
of hot water there is a difference ; as all may have expe- 
rienced who have contrasted the comparative pungency 
of a bath of artificially heated water with the softness of 
another that has been warmed in Nature's own boilers. It 
is a most singular circumstance that the ingredient to 
which many celebrated wells are believed to owe their 
chief efficacy is the virulent poison arsenic. Wiesbaden, 
Spa, and Kissingen contain that substance in union with 
iron, and it is also widely diffused in the waters of our 
own country. •• Thus may it be seen how skillfully Nature 
can administer the most active poisons for our advantage. 
The special virtue lies no doubt partially in the smallness 
of the dose and the accuracy of the compounding ; but 
much may be due to those unknown conditions under 
which the mixture is prepared. It might have been ex- 
pected that mineral waters, in passing among the beds 
whence they extract their components, would have varied 
materially by being sometimes strong and at another time 
weak. But although it is not to be denied that variations 
do occasionally occur, still it is found that substantially 
the same spring flows on with wonderfully little change 
from generation to generation. From this cause arises 
one chief reason of the safety of their administration and 
the uniformity of the results obtained from them. 

In our own country * we have reason to be thankful for 
many famous wells, which, in a general way, may be con- 
sidered efficacious for all purposes to which mineral waters 
are usually applied. Thus there are potent chalybeates 
at Tonbridge, Harrogate, and elsewhere. There are 
" salines " at Leamington, Cheltenham, Bridge of Allan, 
and in many other places. We have sulphur wells at 
Harrogate and Moffat, and hot springs at Bath, Clifton, 

* England. The same may be said of the mineral springs of Saratoga 
and in Virginia. E. J. 



i 



JVel/s, 133 

Matlock, and Buxton. In the olden time, when medicine 
was in its infancy, when no more skillful physician was to 
be found than the neighboring monk, and no better drugs 
than the simples that grew in the Abbey garden, our an- 
cestors placed unbounded faith in wells, and there was 
not a county in the realm which could not boast of its 
famous spring. According to the custom of the time, 
every well was dedicated to the honor of some patron 
saint, and it may be affirmed that more than one name 
would perhaps have slipped out of the Calendar had it 
not been preserved in association with those springs. 
Pilgrimages of a mixed sanitary and religious character 
used to be made to wells of note, and it is curious to ob- 
serve to how late a period the custom was kept up. Pen- 
nant tells us, that in his time pilgrimages to St. Winifred's 
Well, at Hol)rwell in Flintshire, had not been entirely dis- 
continued. " In summer," he says, " a few are still to be 
seen in the water in deep devotion, up to their chins for 
hours, sending up their prayers." How different the feel- 
ings with which gay spas, especially on the Continent, are 
visited in these days ! Customs no doubt change. There 
is a time and a place for every thing, and the pump-room 
and the bath seem scarcely suited to religious medita- 
tion. Still it must be admitted that in principle, at least, 
our forefathers were in the right ; and that their fervent 
thankfulness, even though shown under circumstances that 
might provoke a smile, was infinitely preferable to our 
frivolity. Surely the place where an invalid day by day is 
conscious of the blessing of returning health, ought above 
all others to be the place where the Giver of health should 
not be forgotten. 

Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks ; so longeth my soul after Thee, 
OGod. — Ps.xlii. 




SEAS AND FLOODS. 

O ye Seas and Floods^ bless ye the Lord : praise Him^ and mag- 
nify Him for e'ver. 

HO is there that does not love to wander by the 
sea-shore ? Its varying aspects have suggested 
to poets some of their finest thoughts ; and, when 
they fail to inspire, they often lead on even ordinary minds 
to a point not far removed from the line where poetry be- 
gins. There are some subjects, indeed, which do a great 
deal for themselves, and from their own attractiveness are 
not easily spoiled even though handled clumsily. Thus 
the commonplace flights of fellow-strollers afford on such 
occasions a pleasure which their intrinsic merit does not 
explain ; but sympathy is a powerful varnish which hides 
defects and stifles criticism. Poetical ideas, moreover, 
may lighten up the mind with their own beauty and be 
thoroughly felt and enjoyed, although, in struggling for 
outward expression, they cannot bring together the right 
words and often deviate into very common prose. 

In strolling along the shore we find ourselves sur- 
rounded on all sides by objects to interest and admire. 
The cliff and the sands, the boulder rock and the pebbly 
beach — each has its charm. The ocean enhances beauty 
v/here beauty already exists ; and it often creates beauty 
where, but for the charm which it bestows, there would be 
nothing to admire. On the open shore the air takes hold 
of us more bracingly than elsewhere ; we realize more 
thoroughly the healthful consciousness of its presence ; 
the drooping nerves are strung again into vigor, as if 



Seas and Floods. 135 

watered with its freshness. Here, as in other scenes, 
Nature has her characteristic sounds with which she re- 
gales the Hstener. The ciy of the wildfowl is music to 
him especially whose path of life lies in the crowded city ; 
and the murmur of the crisp ripple or the booming of the 
wave falls pleasingly on the ear. There is a world of 
plantal and animal life spread out before us, and we have 
only to look and to handle in order to be interested. How 
precious now are the scraps and fragments of Natural 
History which we can bring to bear. Nowhere is knowl- 
edge more enjoyment-bringing, for nowhere are the ar- 
rangements which God has made for the welfare of his 
humble creatures more conspicuous. How swiftly the time 
flies as we probe and peer into the clear lakelets that gath- 
er round the boulders on the sands or in the hollows of the 
rocks. The eye wanders delightedly among the many- 
colored tufts of algae that clothe their coasts and depths. 
These miniature forests teem with varied life, and many a 
little creature finds in their recesses a secure retreat from 
cruel foes. Stealthily we draw near to those pools, seek- 
ing not to destroy but to admire, and feel well rewarded if 
we obtain but a glimpse of their inhabitants. 

Not less pleasant is it to retreat step by step before the 
returning tide, to lose the dreary sands as they are again 
covered up in their mantle of water, and to watch the 
thousand eager streams rushing in from the sea among the 
rocks, and once more joining on to the boundless ocean 
the pools we have been surveying. What a change sud- 
denly passes over the black and yellow seaweed ! A 
moment before it lay dingy and motionless upon the rocks, 
but now, revived as it were into new life by the return of 
the sea, it begins to float and wave its pennons. The 
mussels and periwinkles, the limpets and the sea-acorns 
which, an instant before, were glued to the rocks as faded 
and dead-like as the stones themselves, now hear the rush- 
ing sound and welcome the returning water. In another 



136 Seas and Floods. 

minute these trusting waiters upon Providence will be 
opening their mouths to the currents which bring them 
their " daily bread," rasping their food from the tough sea- 
weed with their file-like tongues, or raking in supplies with 
their handy tentacles. The ever- bountiful Sea will surely 
bring nourishment to them all — not one will be forgotten 
by Our Father. 

The eyes of all wait upon Thee, O Lord ; and Thou givest them thek meat 
in due season. — Ps. cxlv. 

The lower depths of ocean are still a mystery, although 
of late years the diving-bell, the dredge, and the plummet 
have added much to our knowledge both of its bed and its 
inhabitants. In a general way its bed resembles the land 
— now rising into mountains, now sinking into valleys, or 
spreading out into table-lands. The deepest recesses 
below the level of the sea-surface are believed to be about 
equal to the height of the highest hills above it ; but so 
inconsiderable is this depth in relation to the diameter of 
the earth, that a mere film of water laid upon a sixteen- 
inch globe with a camel's-hair pencil would adequately 
represent it. It is difficult to say at what depth life be- 
comes extinct ; but just as in ascending into the air on 
lofty mountains there is a limit beyond which nothing liv- 
ing can maintain itself, so in descending into the depths 
of ocean a stratum is reached below which life cannot exist. 
The life which we know has a frontier downward as well 
as upward. The floor of the Atlantic appears in some 
places to be a vast sepulchre, for at Telegraph-ridge it 
was found at a depth of two miles to be completely covered 
with calcareous and siliceous remains of microscopic ani- 
malcules. There the deposit may go on increasing and 
thickening, until, under the vast pressure of the overlying 
mass, the limestone strata of new continents have been 
founded. It need scarcely be said that modern observa- 
tion has completely overturned the gloomy picture of the 



Seas and Floods. 137 

bottom of the ocean which fancy suggested to Shake- 
speare, but which, in the absence of all practical data, has 
stood its ground popularly almost up to the present time. 
Schleiden says that " we dive into the liquid crystal of the 
Indian Ocean, and it opens out to us the most wondrous 
enchantments of the fairy tales of our childhood's dreams." 
The Professor's description is too long for quotation here, 
but it introduces us to sub-marine scenery where " strangely 
branching thickets bear living flowers. The coloring sur- 
passes every thing : vivid green alternates with brown or 
yellow : rich tints of purple, from pale red - brown to 
deepest blue." "There are Gorgonias with their yellow 
and lilac fans, perforated like trellis-work : leafy Flustras 
adhering to the coral branches like mosses and lichens : 
yellow, green, and purple-striped limpets resembling mon- 
strous cochineal insects upon their trunks." " Like gigan- 
tic cactus-blossoms sparkling in the most ardent colors, the 
sea-anemones expand their crowns of tentacles upon the 
broken rocks, or more modestly embellish the flat bottom, 
looking as if they were beds of variegated Ranunculuses. 
Around the blossoms of the coral shrubs play the " hum- 
ming-birds " of the ocean, little fish sparkling with red or 
blue metallic glitter, or gleaming in golden green, or with 
the brightest silvery lustre." The many-tinted phosphor- 
escent lights of the ocean crowa this gorgeous painting, 
and " complete the wonders of the enchanted night." 
" The most luxuriant vegetation of a tropical landscape," 
continues the Professor, " cannot unfold as great wealth 
of form, while in variety and splendor of color it would 
stand far behind this garden landscape, which is strangely 
composed exclusively of animals, and not of plants. What- 
ever is beautiful, wondrous, or uncommon in the great 
classes of fish and Echinoderms, jelly-fishes and polypes, 
and mollusks of all kinds, is crowded into the warm and 
crystal waters of the tropical ocean." 

The abundance of animal life in the ocean greatly ex- 



138 Seas a7id Floods. 

ceeds that on land. The sea afTords a home for the largest 
of known animals as well as for the most minute : life 
teems everywhere. Scoresby once sailed through a patch 
of the Greenland Sea — 20,000 square miles in extent — 
covered with a species of medusa on which the whale feeds, 
and he calculated that every square mile contained 23 
quadrillions ZZ'i trillions of independent living creatures ! 
He did his best, moreover, — we shall not pronounce with 
what success, — to bring the number contained in one of 
these miles within the range of our conception by saying, 
that " to count them would require 80,000 persons, and a 
period equal to the interval between the present and the 
creation." Yet it must be recollected that this was only 
the aggregate of life in one of the 20,000 square miles, 
and that the whole scene was but a mere fragment of the 
ocean. Such numbers are incomprehensible ; but even 
viewing the statement as metaphorical it conveys a lofty 
idea of the profusion of marine life. In the coral polyp 
we have another example of a creature whose numbers 
equally baffle our conception. In many parts of the ocean, 
islands and reefs are now being constructed by countless 
myriads of these animals. Off the east coast of Australia 
there is a single coral reef a thousand miles long, and vast 
tracts of the Pacific are studded with islands of coral 
formation. Placed side by side with the productions of 
these pigmy laborers, our pyramids and breakwaters, and 
the most stupendous works reared by man, sink into utter 
insignificance. 

It is noteworthy that amidst this richness of life the sea, 
like the land, has its deserts — "desolate regions," as they 
are termed by mariners — in which few signs of life in air 
or water are to be seen. In many maps such a region will 
be found laid down in the South Pacific, between Patagonia 
and New Zealand. Birds that have followed a ship for 
weeks together seem to recognize this blighted ocean-des- 
ert, and fall away as soon as they enter it. 



Seas and Floods. 139 

The blue color of the sea is one of its chief attractions, 
and, as the intensity is greatest where the saline matters 
are most abundant, there would appear to be a close con- 
nection between the two conditions. Thus the water of 
the Gulf Stream, south of Newfoundland, is bluer than the 
fresher water beside which it flows, and the line of demar- 
cation between them is so sharp as to be easily distin- 
guished. " Off the coast of the Carolinas," says Maury, 
" you can see the bows of the vessel, as she enters the 
Gulf Stream, dashing the spray from those warm and blue 
waters, while the stern is still in the sea-green water of the 
Bank of Newfoundland." The "blue Mediterranean" has 
become a proverb, and the fact is explained by the circum- 
stance that the sun, by causing enormous evaporation, 
strengthens the brine of its confined waters as in a salt- 
pan. On the other hand, seas that contain comparatively 
little salt, such as the German and Arctic Oceans, are of a 
green rather than a blue color. By this easy test it is said 
that manufacturers of salt sometimes judge of the richness 
of the water. 

Navigators tell us of other colors which the sea excep- 
tionally assumes. Thus there is a Yellow Sea, called so 
from the color of the sand, or mud ; a White Sea, from the 
weakness of the saline solution ; and a Red Sea, from 
slimy fuci cast up from the bottom of its bed. Near Terra 
del Fuego Darwin observed patches of a brown-red color, 
produced by prawn-like crustaceans floating in it. The 
sailors called them whale-food ; and in truth, they appeared 
to be just the sort of banquet on which a whale would 
feast. Near the Galapagos Darwin also remarked that a 
film of floating spawn gave a dark yellowish or mud-like 
color to the sea ; on another occasion the ocean was cov- 
ered for miles with a coating that displayed iridescent col- 
ors. The sailors, who are often shrewd observers, attrib- 
uted it " to ihe carcass of some whale floating at no great 
distance." A patch of white water, twent}'-three miles in 



140 Seas and Floods, 

extent, was observed in the Indian Ocean. " In appear- 
ance," says Darwin, " it was like a plain of snow." " The 
scene was one of awful grandeur ; the sea being turned to 
phosphorus, the heavens being hung in blackness, and the 
stars going out." 

Phosphorescence is one of the most beautiful appear- 
ances presented by the sea. We sometimes fancy it to be 
very vivid upon our own coasts, but sailors nevertheless 
assure us that the light is pale in comparison to the bright- 
ness with which it shines in tropical regions. There are 
two forms in which it appears. In one, bright isolated 
specks are seen from the shining of star-fishes, annelids, 
medusae, and various kinds of Crustacea and mollusca. 
In the other, there is a diffused luminosity, often flashing 
into coruscations, which is produced by a profusion of 
microscopic animalcules. The phosphorescence of the 
Noctilucae is sometimes beautifully seen while steaming 
along our coasts at night, as the water is dashed from the 
bows ; but it is also very conspicuous when a glass vessel, 
filled with water containing them, is placed in the dark. 

These creatures occupy one of the humblest positions 
in the animal scale. Yet, though they look like mere 
specks of animated jelly, they are by no means insensible 
to rough treatment, under which they shine with increasing 
light. 

If all the salt in the sea were collected together it would 
cover the entire surface of Europe with a layer one mile 
in thickness. Whence comes this saltness of the sea, and 
what is its use ? The first point is doubtful. The earth, it 
is true, contains vast stores of salt hidden away among its 
strata, and in the convulsions through which it has passed 
the salt might easily have been washed out into the sea. 
But on the other hand, the beds of salt found in the earth 
show unmistakably that they themselves have been depos- 
ited from water. Not improbably the sea was created salt, 
just as we now find it ; and, from its almost unvarying 



Seas and Floods. 141 

constitution preserved amid causes tending to disturb the 
balance, it seems to retain by special ordinance the exact 
amount of saltness best adapted to the uses it has to ful- 
fill. At first sight it might appear as if this saltness would 
detract from its utility, for there are few purposes to which 
it can be applied in comparison with those for which fresh 
water is suitable. But a little reflection will show us that, 
while there has been no stinting in our supplies of fresh 
water, the additional gift of salt water has added largely 
to our resources by properties peculiar to itself. It is thus 
fitted to be the habitation of countless tribes of fishes and 
other creatures which afford us most abundant and wel- 
come supplies of food, and brings to every shore the means 
of obtaining salt, which is an essential element of healthy 
nourishment. 

The ocean is " ever restless." There are interstitial 
movements between the drops themselves of which it is 
composed, and there is a grand circulation in the whole 
mass of water to wliich the term current is usually re- 
stricted. 

The necessity for this circulation may be inferred from 
the care which Providence has taken to insure its efficient 
performance. Within the tropics the fierce sun is con- 
stantly skimming the surface of the sea, and creating a void 
that has to be filled up by the surrounding water. Among 
the most powerful agents of circulation is the moon, by 
whose attraction is raised the wave of the tide, which, 
setting out from one extremity of the ocean, traverses it 
unto the other. The willing atmosphere, seldom standing 
idly by when any of the grand operations of Nature are 
going forward, takes its share of the work, and by its trade- 
winds, monsoons, and other breezes helps on the good 
cause. Sometimes the wind churns the waves, as in the 
storm ; at other times it drives them before it, and piles 
them up in confined bays, such as the Mexican Gulf, 
whence they fall down as a current across the neighboring 



142 Seas and Floods. 

sea, and thus restore the equilibrium. But the mainspring 
of the machinery is to be found in the ocean itself, which, 
by means of differences in its weight, or specific gravity, 
establishes the principal currents. In equatorial regions 
evaporation thickens the brine, and makes it dense and 
heavy. In the Polar Sea evaporation is checked by the 
cold, while melting snows and glaciers pour into it immense 
quantities of water during the summer, by which it is made 
fresh and light. There is thus at one end of the mobile 
mass a dense fluid, and at the other end a light one ; and 
the necessary result is a circulation from the equator to 
the poles to displace the fresh water, and a counter-current 
from the poles to the equator to fill up the void which the 
dense water leaves behind it. Distance counts for nothing 
in such a chain, and when one link is moved all the other 
links must move also. By this means a thorough circula- 
tion is effected. On the one hand, the ocean is being 
continually poured into the polar seas ; on the other, it is 
in an equal ratio emptied back into the regions of the 
tropics. 

The proofs of this " greater circulation " are to be found 
in many places, but they are less conspicuous in the 
southern than in the northern hemisphere, on account of 
there being comparatively so little land between the tropics 
and the antarctic regions. The polar and equatorial 
streams are consequently more diffused than in the north- 
ern hemisphere, and their force, with few exceptions, is not 
so great. Toward the north, on the contrary, the chan- 
nels of communication between the equatorial and polar 
seas are narrower, and the currents, therefore, are more 
distinctly marked. It is just the difference between a river 
whose strength is wasted by the width of its bed, and one 
whose waters being confined within a narrow channel rush 
impetuously along. 

The surface of the ocean is thus mapped out into cur- 
rents by the constancy of which the navigator profits. But 



Seas and Floods. 143 

besides these stronger streams there are others whose force 
is so gentle and diffused that their existence cannot be 
detected by the reckoning, and is only made known by the 
thermometer. In pursuing an eastward or westward course 
across the ocean, an alteration in the temperature tells 
where the water comes from. Thus, if the temperature 
increase, it may be inferred that there is a flow from the 
south ; and if the water get colder, a northern origin is 
equally indicated. 

The Gulf Stream is the most famous of all the currents 
that flow toward the north, and is in itself one of the 
most wonderful physical phenomena in the world. Its 
great historian, Maury, thus eloquently describes it : — 
" There is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts 
it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never over- 
flows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while 
its current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, 
while its mouth is in the arctic seas. It is the Gulf Stream. 
There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. 
Its current is more rapid than the Mississippi or Amazon, 
and its volume more than a thousand times greater." 
Rushing past the point of Tlorida, it starts on its path 
across the Atlantic as a compact river sixty miles broad 
and three thousand feet deep, and at a pace of four or five 
miles an hour. Onward it streams in a northeasterly direc- 
tion, spreading out its waters like a fan, until it approaches 
the Cornwall coast, the west of Ireland, and the Hebrides 
of Scotland. The great bulk of the still warm waters flows 
onward between the Shetlands and Iceland ; and then, 
after laving the northern shores of Norway, the current 
is gradually lost in the Spitzbergen seas. Whether the 
waters of the Gulf Stream, still recognizable by their tem* 
perature, are destined to be rediscovered as an open, com- 
paratively mild sea under the pole, surrounded by arctic 
deserts that lie outside the influence of this offshoot from 
the Sunny South, is a problem which the next few years 
will probably resolve. 



144 '^^^^ ^^^ Floods. 

Side by side with this warm northward-moving flood 
there is a great polar stream bearing down in an opposite 
direction, which appears to be more especially its com- 
pensatory current. It rises in the distant recesses of 
Baffin's Bay and the Greenland Sea, and then, studded 
with icebergs, sweeps along the Coast of Labrador, encir- 
cling the island of Newfoundland in its chill embrace. To 
the south of the Bank it encounters the Gulf Stream run- 
ning northeastward ; — the paths of the two giants cross 
each other, and they struggle for the right of way. Their 
hostile waters refuse to mingle, and each continues to 
retain its color and its temperature. But, though neither 
is vanquished, each leaves its mark upon the other. From 
the force of the shock the Gulf Stream for a moment 
falters in its course, and is deflected toward the south ; 
while the polar current, unable to break through the con- 
centrated mass by which it is opposed, dives under the 
bed of the mighty stream, and hastens on toward the 
tropics. 

The higher latitudes of the Southern Ocean are even 
more numerously studded with drifting icebergs than the 
northern, from which, were other proofs wanting, we might 
safely infer the existence of currents analogous to those 
just described. The superficial polar currents are some- 
times very baffling to navigators desirous of penetrating 
into high latitudes. One of them was carried — ship and 
all — a distance of 1200 miles upon the ice, as it drifted 
down the centre of Baffin's Bay. Captain Parry, too, found 
all his efforts to penetrate toward the pole counteracted 
by the circumstance that the distance traveled in sledges 
during the day was only equal to the southern drift of the 
whole mass of the ice during the night. Under this super- 
ficial polar current there is in some places, perhaps in all, 
a deeper current running in the opposite direction. Thus 
it has occasionally happened in Baffin's Bay, that while 
ships in calm weather have been drifting to the south on 



Seas and Floods, 145 

the superficial stream, large icebergs, whose bases must 
have sunk deep into the lower current, have been observed 
to move in the opposite direction. 

These currents of the sea aid commerce, distribute seeds 
over widely distant regions, and sometimes afford abundant 
supplies of timber to countries destitute of forests. In this 
way the Icelanders are furnished from the woods bordering 
the rivers in Siberia. In high latitudes it is obviously im- 
portant that the sea should remain free from ice as long 
as possible, both for the sake of commerce and because 
the Esquimaux find in it their chief stores of food. The 
saltness of the ocean helps to keep it open ; for while fresh 
water freezes at 32 degrees, salt water remains fluid down 
to a temperature of about 28 degrees. But the polar seas, 
from the rains and melting of the ice, combined with the 
small evaporation going on in them, tend to become less 
salt ; while, at the tropics, from the great loss of water by 
evaporation, the saltness tends to increase. The equatorial 
current, therefore, assists in keeping the Arctic Sea open by 
bringing to it supplies of stronger brine from the South. 

By means of the great currents of the ocean another ex- 
tremely important function is performed. One of the chief 
cosmical problems which Nature had to solve was how, on 
the one hand, to warm the North, and on the other to cool 
the South, to the degree best adapted for the development 
of life. For the regulation of the heat account between 
them Nature has employed the most powerful machinery 
that exists on the earth. We have already seen how heat, 
packed up in the vapor arising from southern seas, is borne 
along by the atmosphere to regions where it is wanted ; 
and we now perceive that this machinery — vast as it is — 
requires to be supplemented by the heat conveyed toward 
the poles in the currents of the ocean. The means are 
marvelously great, yet not out of proportion to the magni- 
tude of the work to be done. Pouillet and Herschel have 

estimated the daily amount of heat received by the earth 
10 



146 Seas and Floods. 

from the sun as sufficient to raise the temperature of 7513 
cubic miles of water from the freezing up to the boihng 
point, and of this heat equatorial regions receive a pro- 
portion which would be incompatible with life did not some 
contrivance exist for carrying off the excess. Owing to the 
preponderance of sea between the tropics, the ocean of 
course receives the largest share of this heat. It has a 
mean temperature of about 80° ; while in the Caribbean 
Sea and in some other places the temperature rises nearly 
to blood-heat. Were the water not renewed in the Mexi- 
can Gulf, it would soon become destructive to life. To 
prevent this, Nature establishes currents by which some of 
the hot water is continually drawn off from the caldron, 
and an equal portion of cold water is continually let in. 
The operation may be compared to a kitchen boiler fed 
with cold water through one pipe, and from which a pro- 
portionate quantity of hot water escapes through another. 
The " main " that issues from this tap is the Gulf Stream, 
and, in order to form some idea of the service it renders, 
let us consider the amount of heat it carries along. As it 
leaves the caldron there is a mass of water, 60 miles broad 
by 3000 feet deep, with a maximum temperature of 86° ; 
and before it is lost in the Polar Sea its temperature has 
fallen to nearly 32°. All the heat implied in this difference 
has been distributed by the way, and has been spent in 
improving the climate of the regions through which it 
passed. Maury calculates that the heat discharged over 
the Atlantic by the waters of the Gulf Stream in a winter's 
day would be sufficient to raise the whole atmosphere 
covering France and the British Islands from the freezing 
point up to summer heat ; and in another place he says that 
it would be sufficient to keep in flow a molten stream of 
iron greater in volume than the Mississippi. There is " a 
Providence " even in the refusal of the giant streams to 
unite together off the coast of Newfoundland. By this 
designed separation " the heat and the cold " are carried 



Seas and Floods, 147 

better and further, and the object of the distribution is 
more perfectly attained. It is indeed remarkable how well 
heat and cold are thus conveyed. The cold polar current 
which we lost to the south of the Bank of Newfoundland, 
where it dipped under the bed of the Gulf' Stream, could 
still be reached by deep soundings, and recognized by its 
temperature of 35°, while the " river " flowing above it was 
80°. And by the same means it is again to be recognized 
among the West India Islands, with the cold label of its 
origin still attached to it. In those seas the temperature 
of the surface water may be 85°, while that of the deep 
water is 43°, or only 11° above the freezing point. There 
is another evidence of design about this wonderful stream 
which must not be passed over. Maury says, " Its banks 
and its bottom are of cold water ; " and, indeed, this was 
essential, in order to make it a good hot-water pipe. 
Earth and rocks are better conductors of heat ; and, con- 
sequently, if the banks and bottom had been constructed, 
as they usually are, of these materials, the Gulf Stream 
would have held its heat with a less tenacious grasp, and 
could not have carried it, as it now does, 3000 miles across 
the ocean to improve the climate of cold latitudes. At 
Newfoundland in winter-time the thermometer is often at 
zero, while within a good day's sail to the south may be 
enjoyed the genial climate of the Gulf Stream. Its in- 
fluence in warming the winters of the British islands is 
shown by a comparison between their thermometric regis- 
ter and that of places situated on the same parallel of lati- 
tude on the other side of the Atlantic. When it reaches 
Hammerfest, near the northern extremit}^ of Norway, and 
considerably within the arctic circle, its influence sufiices 
to keep the harbor open in the severest seasons. It is 
even asserted that, in the ocean near Spitzbergen, water is 
occasionally to be met with in the track of the Gulf 
Stream which is only one degree colder than it is in the 
depths of the Caribbean Sea. 



148 Seas and Floods. 

From this general outline some idea may be formed of 
the way in which God has made the ocean currents co- 
operate with other causes in equalizing temperature over 
the globe. By their means the heat which would other- 
wise accumulate at the tropics is carried toward the poles ; 
while the cold which would oppress the polar regions is, 
if we may so express it, carried toward the equator. By 
this beautiful provision the climates of the world are im- 
proved j the bleak North is made less bleak than it other- 
wise would be, and the temperature of the o<ver-heated 
South is kept within due bounds. In these islands, more 
especially, we have reason to bless God for the beneficence 
of an arrangement which softens the rigor of our climate, 
and gives to some parts of the kingdom a winter season 
which in temperature may compete with many in the south 
of Europe. Nor can any one who considers the vastness 
of these operations fail to perceive how much the Crea- 
tor is praised and magnified both by the simplicity of the 
means employed, and the perfection with which the end 
is accomplished. 

The great currents we have been considering form the 
main arteries and veins of the ocean ; but there is also a 
constant interstitial movement and mixing going on among 
the particles themselves, which might by comparison be 
termed its capillary circulation. The dynamic force is 
derived from local changes in temperature or in the degree 
of saltness. Every beam of sunshine that falls upon the 
sea, by altering the specific gravity of the portion on which 
it falls, sets a current in motion to reestablish the equilib- 
rium. In like manner every kind of fish, and more 
especially every kind of shell-building creature that lives 
there, as soon as it has absorbed a particle of lime, silica, 
or other matter, alters the specific gravity of the atom of 
water whence the matter was extracted, and creates a 
minute current of denser water to restore the equilibrium. 
Plants which, like corallines, absorb lime act in the same 



Seas and Floods. 149 

way. The amount of each operation is infinitesimal, but 
the grand result is that a capillary circulation of minute 
currents is everywhere going on, by which the salubrity of 
the general mass of the ocean is maintained. How won- 
derful the simplicity of the means by which all this is ac- 
complished. A grain more or a grain less of common salt 
contributes its share in keeping the ocean in healthy move- 
ment ! Nor is it to be forgotten that the inhabitants of 
the sea, by withdrawing lime and silica, prevent these sub- 
stances from unduly accumulating in its waters. For as 
all the rivers that fall into the sea are continually bringing 
saline matters into it, these would soon exist in hurtful 
excess if no arrangement had been made for their removal. 
There are some inland seas of the highest value to man- 
kind, which would ere this have degenerated by evapora- 
tion into pestilential swamps, had not the Great Architect 
insured their safety by establishing permanent currents of 
supply which flow into them from the ocean. The Medi- 
terranean — one of the greatest water-highways of the 
world — may be cited as the most remarkable example. 
It is computed that the evaporation going on from its sur- 
face skims off no less than three times as much water as it 
receives from all its tributaries taken together, and it would, 
therefore, be inevitably dried up were it not fed with a cor- 
responding equivalent of water from the Atlantic. Yet 
even this arrangement would not of itself suflice to obviate 
the threatened danger. It is evident that excessive evapo- 
ration, besides lowering the level of the surface, would also 
have the effect of concentrating the brine ; and this would 
go on until, the point of saturation having been reached, 
layer after layer of salt would be precipitated to the bot- 
tom so as ultimately to fill up the entire bed. The purpose 
of the current from the Atlantic is to provide for the waste 
by evaporation, but being itself salt it does not tend mate- 
rially to dilute the brine that remains. A sure remedy, 
however, is found in that law which governs the universe — 



150 Seas and Floods. 

gravitation — and thus the saltness which caused the 
danger, brings also with it the means of safety. For as 
the deep water in the Mediterranean increases in saltness, 
it becomes heavier than the less salt water of the adjoining 
Atlantic, and consequently acquires a tendency to fall in 
upon and displace it, just as a portion of heavy air dis- 
places a contiguous portion that is light. In this way a 
counter-current is established at the Straits of Gibraltar. 
The superficial current runs in from the Atlantic to main- 
tain the level of the sea that has been lowered by excessive 
evaporation ; and the deep current runs out from the Med- 
iterranean to carry off that excess of salt which, if retained, 
would in the end convert its bed into an unhealthy swamp. 

The Red Sea would have been even in a worse plight 
but for a similar arrangement. The sun beats so hotly 
upon it that its waters are often raised to a temperature of 
90° ; consequently, the evaporation is excessive. On the 
other hand, throughout its whole length of about 1200 
miles not a single stream that can be called a river falls 
into it. But all is adjusted, aiid safety is secured by the 
existence of a double current at the Straits of Bab-el-Man- 
deb. That which is superficial brings an abundant supply 
of water from the Indian Ocean ; that which is deep carries 
off the excess of salt fi"om the Red Sea. 
. Another well-known sea — the Baltic — is in danger of 
losing its healthy amount of saltness from causes the re- 
verse of those just mentioned ; for while many rivers bring 
to it supplies of fresh water, it lies so far to the north that 
comparatively little is dissipated by evaporation. The 
brine is thus in danger of being over-diluted. The remedy, 
however, is found in a double current. By the superficial 
current, some of the brackish water is decanted off into 
the North Sea ; by the deep, a supply of salt is brought 
from the North Sea into the Baltic. 

The tidal floods which add so much to the interest of 
our sea-side strolls are also of the highest utility. Though 



Seas and Floods. 151 

little else than mere undulations without movement in the 
open sea — like those we admire in fields of " wavy corn " 
when agitated by the wind — tides are strong currents in 
the narrow seas and the rivers where they ebb and flow. 
Tides, therefore, facilitate commerce ; and from their un- 
deviating regularity enter as a certain element into the 
sailor's calculations. The wave of water thus sent up a 
river deepens its channel, and gives to many an inland 
town the advantages of a sea position. But for the tide, 
the miles of wharves which border the Thames at London 
would never have existed ; and it is not too much to say 
that to its tide the metropolis owes its rank as the foremost 
commercial city in the world. At high water the channel 
at London Bridge is deepened to about 18 feet; while 
Bristol and Glasgow are even more dependent upon the 
tide than London. The Avon, at St. Vincent's Rocks, 
when the tide is at the lowest, would hardly swim a boat \ 
but after it has received its forty feet flood it could float a 
man-of-war. At Glasgow there are persons living who 
recollect when the river could be waded across at low 
water. The height of tides varies extremely. Where 
there is nothing to confine them, as in the open ocean, 
they seldom rise above two or three feet ; and the same 
effect happens if the direction of an inland sea lies out of 
the course of their flow, as in the Mediterranean. On the 
other hand, where a gradual contracting estuary, like the 
Bristol Channel, opens fairly to the flood, it sweeps in from 
the ocean with full volume, and being hemmed in more 
and more between converging shores it mounts higher 
and higher as it advances. Thus at Chepstow the tide 
occasionally attains an elevation of 50 feet. Still more 
extraordinary is the tide in the Bay of Fundy, on the east 
coast of New Brunswick, where a wave one hundred feet 
high is sometimes piled up by the flowing flood. This wall 
of water advances at such a pace that it often overtakes 
deer, swine, and other beasts feeding or rambling about 



152 Seas and Floods. 

the shore, and swallows them up. The swine, as they feed 
on the mussels at low water, are said to smell, or perhaps 
to hear, the " bore " while it is yet distant, and sometimes 
dash off at the top of their speed to the cliffs to avoid the 
coming danger. 

There is something mysteriously melancholy in the first 
glance which the voyager unaccustomed to ocean life takes 
from the deck of his ship when it has borne him fairly 
" out of sight of land." With nothing visible around but 
sea and sky, he sees his ship a mere speck upon a track- 
less waste. Yet there is no hesitation among those who 
guide the noble bark which forges onward to its destined 
port. The " pathless " ocean is in fact a mere figure of 
speech, for its highways and by-ways have been surveyed 
and accurately mapped. On deck is to be seen the 
trusty compass, pointing out the course, like an attendant 
monitor, with a finger that never tires. Above, there are 
the sun, the moon, or the stars — beacons fixed high in 
the heavens — sign-posts that never deceive the mariner 
who has skill to read their writing. The accuracy of 
modern navigation is truly miraculous. Ships start on a 
voyage of 15,000 miles, say, from New York to California, 
during which they may not once see land, yet they strike 
the sought-for harbor as if the goal had been always before 
their eyes. The late Captain Basil Hall once sailed from 
San Bias, on the Mexican coast, round Cape Horn to Rio 
Janeiro. He was at sea three months, during which he 
saw neither land nor sail, yet he struck the harbor's mouth 
so exactly that he scarcely required to alter his course by 
a single point in order to enter it. Had God not provided 
for accurate navigation by means of astronomical signs, 
and had He not designedly endowed man with special 
faculties capable of, understanding their import, commerce 
as it is now developed could never have existed ; and 
there is not a nation on the earth which would not thereby 
have lost many of the comforts and blessings now brought 



Seas and Floods, 153 

to it. Through His beneficence the " pathless ocean " has 
become the world's greatest highway ; and, instead of sepa- 
rating nations, it joins them together. It is easier now to 
reach the remotest corner of the globe by sea, than it is to 
penetrate into Siberia or Arabia, though these countries 
lie comparatively close at hand. 

The sea is slightingly called the " unstable element," 
but in the permanence of its condition it is much more 
stable than terra firma. The land is in some places being 
heaved upward, in others it is sinking downward ; but the 
level of the ocean never changes. Sometimes the sea is 
hastily identified with " treachery," but its currents are 
more trustworthy than the winds on land. True it is that, 
in obedience to the law of gravity, a ship sometimes sinks 
and a gallant crew perishes. But upon the upholding of 
this very law of gravity every other life in the world 
depends, and its suspension even for an instant would in- 
volve universal destruction. The sea sometimes bursts 
its bounds and desolates the dry land, or sweeps the use- 
ful pier into the deep, or destroys the light-house ; but God 
has given us faculties and provided us with means to grap- 
ple with all these evils, and control even the ocean itself. 
Man's industry and skill again shut out the sea with 
stronger dykes, he builds a better pier, rears another light- 
house round which winds and waves dash in vain, and he 
plants the solid breakwater athwart the deep to create the 
safe harbor within. Thus some of man's greatest victories 
are won in his battles with the sea. Modern skill in build- 
ing and in navigating ships has reduced the dangers of the 
sea at least to a level with those of the land, and has in 
most cases made ocean disaster synonymous with igno- 
rance or want of care. 

The great rivers of the earth are preeminently its Floods, 
and the harmony with which rivers and ocean are regulated 
in relation to each other is another marvel of creative ad- 
justment. " All the rivers run into the sea," saith the 



154 ^V^jJi" and Floods, 

Preacher, "yet the sea is not full." Great as are the 
volumes of water poured into it by rivers like the Missis- 
sippi, the Amazon, the Nile, the Ganges, the Yang-tse- 
Kiang, as well as by every stream and rivulet throughout 
the world, the ocean knows no change, but preserves its 
level with a constancy which geologically distinguishes it 
from the land. The supplies of water poured into it from 
every source have been measured by the Creator with a 
nicety which satisfies all wants but leaves no surplus. 
With the same exactness the rivers throughout the world 
are fed with a uniform supply. In certain years, or at 
certain seasons of the year, the level of their channels may 
vary ; but, notwithstanding climatic disturbances, the 
freaks of the rainfall, the dr}'- and wet years, the irregular 
melting of the snows, and other causes, the great rivers 
show no sign of change in the amount of their annual 
tribute to the ocean. The streams that feed them may 
change ; they may dry up at one season or be swollen into 
torrents at another ; but ultimately an average balance is 
struck, and thus the mightiest rivers, like the Amazon, 
take little note of such disturbances. The Nile at first 
sight seems an exception to this rule, but the exception is 
apparent rather than real ; for the Nile, when the mean 
between its lowest and highest state is taken into account, 
probably varies as little in its yearly average as other 
rivers. Thus may it be seen how that most gigantic and 
wonderful of all hydraulic machines — the atmosphere — 
does its work to perfection. By evaporation it yearly lifts 
up from the ocean the quantity of water that is needed by 
the land ; and it pours into the channels of the rivers a 
supply which from year to year scarcely knows variation. 

The great inland seas of the globe present to us features 
which illustrate even more strikingly the power and wis- 
dom of God. Look at the Caspian, and the Sea of Aral 
in Central Asia, or at the Great Salt Lake of North 
America. Each of them receives the drainage of a large 



Seas and Floods. 155 

district, and yet there is no outgoing stream to carry off the 
water. If we were to continue pouring water into a basin 
we know what would happen ; — the basin would be filled 
to the brim, and would then overflow. And in like man- 
ner the water in these inland seas would overflow and dev- 
astate the country had not a safety-valve been provided in 
evaporation. But again, the evaporation might have been 
too little or too much. It might not have been suffi- 
cient to correct this tendency to overflow ; or it might 
have been excessive, so as ultimately to have sucked the 
sea dry, and left its bed an arid, salt-encrusted desert. 
But no such blunders are to be found in Nature's opera- 
tions. The waste on the one hand, and the supply on 
the other, are so exactly adjusted as to equalize each 
other, and thus the level of those inland seas is for the 
most part preserved. In some districts of Asia, however, 
are to be seen what may be called the ruins of ancient 
seas, which, in the all-wise plans of Providence, were not 
intended to endure. In them the moisture was in the 
course of years dissipated by evaporation ; the brackish 
water thickened into brine, and the brine solic^fied into 
salt-encrustations which mark the site of the old bed. 

Another evidence of providential design is seen in those 
lakes which so frequently spread themselves out near the 
chief sources of rivers. In the language of physiology 
they might justly be called " diverticula," since they are 
reservoirs in which water that is in excess is stored up 
until it is wanted. If there were no provision of this kind 
inundations from the rapid rise of torrents during heavy 
rains would occur more frequently, but by the aid of these 
natural reservoirs the storm passes over in safety. A great 
portion of the rain, instead of running off at once in vio- 
lent floods, accumulates in the lake, whence it is given out 
gradually and profitably, and thus often suffices to keep 
up a flow of water when drought might otherwise have 
left the river dry. 



156 Seas and Floods. 

Rains, rills, and rivers alike rasp off the surface of the 
globe as they pass over it or through it. The rubbings of 
the rocks go to increase the store of fertile soil. As earth 
or mud they are washed along by the current, and de- 
posited over the slopes and plains. Sometimes, from 
peculiar causes, inundations periodically occur, as with the 
Nile in Egypt, whereby, after subsidence, a rich coating of 
fertile soil is found deposited over the surface of the land. 
Most great rivers transport to the sea enormous quantities 
of earthy matters and gravel, which in the course of ages 
form round their mouths a " delta," or projecting tongue 
of rich alluvial soil. Besides these more bulky matters, 
rivers bring down into the sea supplies both of lime and 
silica, which they have dissolved out of the soil or the rock. 
With such materials of ocean architecture myriads of 
fishes, moUusks, polyps, and other creatures obtain all 
they require for the growth of their skeletons, the building 
of their houses, and the construction of those mighty reefs 
of coral which are slowly rising like new continents from 
the deep. 

In Holy Scripture we are not less struck with the beauty 
than with the exactness of expression in which some of 
the leading points connected with the water-system of the 
globe have been described. In Ecclesiastes the sea is rec- 
ognized both as the beginning and the ending of all the 
rivers of the earth, — " Unto the place from whence the 
rivers come, thither they return again." Nothing could 
more truly express the fact. The ocean-vapor which has 
been the sport of winds and currents in the atmosphere 
knows its true home ; for no sooner does it touch the earth 
as rain than, with a seeming instinct and a movement that 
knows no rest, it hurries down the mountain side, and 
across the plain, or trickles through the mysterious by- 
paths of the rocks until, collected into brook or river, it 
plunges once more into its parent ocean. 

With the exception of the rain that has fallen directly 



Seas and Floods. " 157 

into the sea, every drop of returning water has gone a 
long round since it issued from the deep, and by God's 
goodness it has scattered blessings all the way. Water 
truly is a blessing to us in every form of its existence. It 
is a blessing in the ocean, where it diifuses life and the 
means of living to myriads ; as vapor, cooling and re- 
freshing the air at one time, warming and moderating the 
rigors of climate at another ; as cloud, shielding the earth 
from sun, checking excessive radiation, and tempering 
electric influences ; as rain, clearing the air from impur- 
ity and reviving the thirsty soil ; as surface moisture, 
bringing nourishment to plants and animals ; as streams, 
irrigating and fertilizing the land ; as springs, infusing 
health into many a shattered frame ; and lastly as rivers, 
bearing along on their deep currents the commerce that 
multiplies the comforts of life. Such are a few among 
the most obvious of its services, but to complete the list 
would be found an impossibility. In every form and 
stage God has chosen water as His servant to scatter good 
gifts among His creatures. 

Ocean, clouds, rain, and rivers are the elements of a 
gigantic circulation on which the life of the world depends. 
The ocean is the mighty heart — the clouds and vapors 
driven by the wind are the conducting arteries — the mi- 
nute rain-streamlets are the capillaries vivifying and nour- 
ishing eveiy corner of the earth ; while the tiny rills, soon 
swelling into brooks and then into rivers, are the return- 
ing veins which empty the water back into the mighty 
heart. Water is the blood of the earth : where it falls, 
the surface is living and fruitful ; where it is denied, the 
ground withers into sand. Without the ocean there would 
be no rain ; without rain, no fertile land ; without fertile 
land, no plants ; and without plants, no animals. 

He gathereth the waters of the sea together, as it were upon a heap ; and 
layeth up the deep as in a treasure-house. — Ps. xxxiii. 



THE WINDS OF GOD. 




Oye 'winds of God ^ bless ye the Lord: praise Him^ and magnify 

Him for e'ver. 

NE cannot bestow a thought on the machinery by 
which the various operations of Nature are carried 
Ul on without perceiving how much is accompUshed 
by means of air and water. In one shape or another 
these ever-busy agents meet us at every turn ; — some- 
times acting singly, sometimes in combination, but always 
playing into each other's hands with a perfection which 
might almost be called intelligence, and which nothing 
short of infinite wisdom could have devised. Animated 
by solar heat they form the mightiest engines in Nature's 
workshop — laboring with unerring instinct, fetching and 
carrying, fertilizing, vivifying, and supporting life. They 
form, as it were, the right hand of Providence, and their 
appointed task is to distribute blessings over the world. 

As in water, so in air a continual circulation among the 
particles is going on ; which is not less necessary to main- 
tain the atmosphere itself in a state of purity, than it is to 
insure the performance of the various purposes it has to 
fulfill. These movements constitute currents and winds, 
and they all originate in a difference in the density of one 
portion as compared with another. This difference in 
density may be caused by the presence of vapor, or by the 
agency of heat, to which may be added the influence of 
electricity, as is exhibited in the gusts that often suddenly 
arise in the still, close air which precedes the thunder- 
storm. 



The Winds of God. 159 

Winds range through an atmosphere encircling our globe 
to a height of forty-five or fifty miles, and the thickness 
of this belt in relation to the diameter of the earth has 
been compared by Maury to the down upon a peach. As 
air is a fluid, we may consider the atmosphere in its to- 
tality as a gaseous ocean, at the bottom of which we living 
creatures exist and move about. The upper surface of 
this ocean obeys the law of gravitation, by which all fluids 
are compelled to maintain their level ; and hence, when 
accumulations of air arise upon its surface from internal 
disturbance, they must, like the waves of the sea, flow 
down upon the lower levels around, until the equilibrium 
is restored. The air varies in its density at difl'erent 
heights, according to the pressure of the mass above it. 
It is greatest, therefore, in low situations, as at the level 
of the sea, where it weighs fifteen pounds to the square 
inch, or nearly one ton to the square foot. In ascending, 
the weight of the aerial column diminishes in a nearly 
fixed ratio, so that by ascertaining the amount by means 
of a barometer, the altitude of any given spot may be 
pretty accurately determined. So rapidly does the weight 
diminish that, at the top of Mont Blanc, for example, no 
less than one half of the total mass of the atmosphere is 
found to have been left below. 

One chief cause of the varying weight of the atmos- 
phere at the same level is the greater or less abundance 
of aqueous vapor present in it. Dry air is 60 per cent, 
heavier than vapor, and consequently when vapor takes 
the place of a portion of air the weight of the atmospheric 
column is diminished. This may be illustrated by filling 
a teacup to the brim with water to represent a column of 
atmosphere. Our position as mortals upon earth is, of 
course, at the bottom of the cup where the tea-grounds 
usually lie ; but for the moment we may suppose ourselves 
looking down upon the top of the atmosphere represented 
by the surface of the full cup. If we now displace a por- 



i6o The Winds of God, 

tion of the water by pouring in some lighter fluid, as spirits 
of wine or ether, the weight of the column will be necessa- 
rily diminished ; for the teacup, instead of being completely 
filled as before with the denser fluid, will be partly filled 
with the lighter fluid also. In exactly the same ratio the 
weight upon the bottom of the cup, representing the surface 
of the earth, will be lightened. There can be no permanent 
accumulation on the top, for the excess of aeriform fluid, in 
obedience to the law of gravitation, runs down upon the 
surrounding lower levels, like a sea wave, by which means 
the same atmospheric height is always maintained. The 
instrument with which we measure the varying weight of 
the air is the well-known barometer. A low state of the 
barometer, therefore, indicates a light or vaporous condi- 
tion of the atmosphere and a disturbance in the aerial 
equilibrium ; hence, in a general way, rain and wind are 
to be expected. But in interpreting its announcements 
many other points have to be taken into account, more 
especially with regard to the direction of the wind, and 
the rapidity with which changes are taking place in the 
height of the mercurial column. 

How many there are who habitually pass by the little 
instrument as it hangs in its corner in the hall without a 
thought of gratitude or of admiration at the wonderful 
series of adjustments on which its signals are founded. 
How different it is at sea ! There the mariner consults it 
often and anxiously, as he would a truthful friend who can 
point out to him betimes when danger threatens. Every 
movement is analyzed, its slightest hints are carefully pon- 
dered. Never does a day pass by on which lives are not 
saved by the warning throbs of this atmospheric pulse. 
Of late years the barometer has been conspicuously 
placed in almost every fishing village on the coast, and its 
signals are explained by the best code of instruction which 
science can supply. 

To be " as fickle as the wind " is one of those proverb- 



The Winds of God. i6i 

ial reproaches which are sometimes with scant justice 
made at Nature's expense. In reality, however, the laws 
of the winds are as fixed as other physical laws, although, 
from the difficulty of tracing their action in the aerial re- 
gions where they rule, we are as yet in the infancy of our 
knowledge respecting them. That little, however, is of 
immense service to mankind, and from the attention now 
given to this department of meteorology we may soon ex- 
pect to derive from it still greater advantages. 

In Ecclesiastes we read, — " The wind goeth toward 
the south, and turneth about unto the north ; it whirleth 
about continually, and the wind returneth again according 
to his circuits." This is one of those profound expres- 
sions in physical science often met with in the sacred vol- 
ume, which, though greatly in advance of the knowledge 
prevailing at the time when they were written, have been 
confirmed with literal exactness by modern investigation. 
It contains, indeed, the pith of all we know in regard to 
atmospheric circulation, and it could hardly be more 
clearly or beautifully stated. The grand circuit of the 
wind is from the poles to the equator and back again in 
unceasing rounds ; at one time sweeping broadly across 
the surface of the earth ; at another passing in vast vol- 
umes in the contrary direction in the upper regions of the 
atmosphere. It is true these great streams of wind are so 
often deflected from the straight course to form the most 
varying local currents, that it might at first sight appear 
as if all were confusion in the atmosphere. But those 
local currents, though they retard and complicate, do not 
ultimately prevent the final result by which the " wind re- 
turneth again according to his circuits." The " circuits " 
are the great wind-channels of Nature, and in them we 
see established in the atmosphere a system very analogous 
to those polar-equinoctial streams forever flowing in the 
ocean. 

The power which sets these currents in motion is Na- 
il 



1 62 The Winds of God, 

ture's mainspring — the sun. An enormous body of air 
lying over the surface in equatorial regions, being heated 
and rarefied by the sun, is forced to ascend by the pressure 
of the adjacent heavier air brought from the north and the 
south by means of the Trade-winds, and this loss is sup- 
plied by air from higher and higher latitudes, until at last 
the poles themselves are reached. But no sooner has this 
tendency toward a vacuum been produced at the poles, 
by the current flowing from it, than an equivalent current 
begins to be drawn from circumpolar regions to supply 
the void, an,d this suction force, acting backward through 
lower and lower latitudes, at length arrives at the original 
fountain, which was the heated air rising up from equa- 
torial regions. 

Such, in general language, is the circuit of the wind 
upon the globe, although locally the greatest variety in the 
direction of the currents is observed. Aeronauts experi- 
ence different currents at different heights ; and the thun- 
der-cloud may sometimes be seen advancing, under the 
influence of an upper current, apparently in the teeth of 
the wind that prevails below. On the Peak of Teneriffe 
Humboldt found himself exposed to a west wind so vio- 
lent as almost to prevent him from standing upright, while 
the people on the plain below were under the mild influ- 
ence of the northeast Trade. 

It has been proved by many interesting observations 
that currents rising from the earth in warm regions some- 
times take long courses through the air in a direction con- 
trary to the wind prevailing below. Thus, in various parts 
of Europe bordering on the Mediterranean, red sand, 
called sirocco-dust, is occasionally deposited by the south 
wind. According to popular belief this dust comes from 
the interior deserts of Africa ; but science, aided by the 
microscope, has proved that sometimes at least it has trav- 
elled from regions much more remote. A little of this 
red substance being submitted to Ehrenberg, he found 



The Winds of God, 163 

that it clearly told its own history, being, as it were, la- 
belled with the debris of infusorial animalcules, whose 
home he knew was in the mud of the Amazon. It ap- 
pears that in seasons of great drought the river-mud, 
charged with these minute remains, is first thoroughly des- 
iccated, and then reduced to so fine a powder that it is 
taken up by the heated air into the higher regions of the 
atmosphere. The current there joins company with winds 
bound for the northeast, and carries its freight some 
thousands of miles across the Atlantic. It next sweeps 
over the northwest quarter of Africa, and after traversing 
the Mediterranean deposits its load upon the adjacent 
lands. In this long journey its route has lain through the 
upper regions of the ' atmosphere, passing for a considera- 
ble part of the way over the Trade-wind which was blow- 
ing in exactly the contrary direction. 

Let us here briefly notice a few of the principal winds 
that prevail in different parts of the earth. In tropical 
countries lying near the ocean, the inhabitants would lan- 
guish under the stifling air were they not regularly re- 
freshed by the "sea and land breezes." In the AVest 
India Islands, more especially, these fannings of Nature 
are described as delicious. Soon after the morning sun 
begins to glow upon the land, the air, heated as in a 
furnace, ascends in volumes, and its place is immediately 
supplied by the cool air that has been resting all the night 
upon the neighboring ocean. Hence the " sea-breeze." 
In the night-time, on the contrary, the temperature of the 
land falls in its turn, from radiation, below the temperature 
of the sea, and the direction of the current is reversed. 
It is now the air over the ocean which is displaced, and 
the air on the land which rushes ofl" seaward to supply the 
void. Hence the " land-breeze." In latitudes far beyond 
the tropics, as on our own coasts, a sea-breeze is often felt 
in hot weather toward the middle of the day. 

The path across the ocean is long and tedious. More 



164 The Winds of God. 

than 4000 miles of water lie between the Cape de Verde 
Islands and Mexico ; more than 8000 miles intervene be- 
tween South America and Australia. Unfortunate would 
it have been for commerce had there been no steadiness 
in the breezes of those regions — if there had been nothing 
for the sailor to reckon upon, and if every ship in travers- 
ing them had necessarily to become the sport of ever- 
changing winds. Ocean voyages, instead of being per- 
formed with a regularity that astonishes, would have been 
in the highest degree uncertain. The Ruler of the winds 
has happily ordered it otherwise. Under the Equator 
there is a narrow belt of calms, broken by fitful storms of 
rain and thunder. But on both sides beyond there is a 
broad region reaching to about the 28 th degree of latitude 
where the wind blows regularly all the year round. North 
of the Line, it comes from the northeast ; south of the 
Line, from the southeast ; and thus a favorable breeze is 
secured for ships sailing across the Atlantic or Pacific in 
a westerly direction. These are the famous winds called 
The Trades, in token of the benefits they bring to com- 
merce ; and so steadily do they blow, that the sails of a 
ship may sometimes be set when off the Cape de Verde 
Islands, without requiring to be shifted until the opposite 
shore of America is sighted. In the Indian Ocean the 
Trades likewise prevail, but owing to the influence of the 
great Asian deserts elsewhere considered, the northern 
Trade is seasonally interrupted and changed into the 
Monsoon. 

As the Trades help ships across the ocean in one direc- 
tion only, the question naturally occurs, — How do they 
get back again ? Immediately beyond the Trades there is 
providentially another region of ocean where the winds, 
though far less regular, have yet a prevailing direction 
exactly the reverse of that which governs the Trades : 
in the northern hemisphere, the set is from the southwest ; 
in the southern, it is from the northwest. Practically, 



The Winds of God. 165 

therefore, in whichever direction a ship may be crossing 
the ocean, the skillful mariner knows that there are tracks 
in which propitious winds will for the most part be found. 

The cause of the Trade-winds has been thus explained. 
As the earth spins round in diurnal rotation, it is obvious 
that the land near the equator, being farthest from the axis 
of movement, must go faster than places situated either to 
the north or to the south. The former lies, as it were, on 
the rim of the wheel, while the latter are nearer the axle 
in proportion as they approach the poles. Hence, at the 
equator, the surface rotates with a velocity equal to 16 
miles per minute ; while in latitude 45°, say at Bordeaux 
or Venice, the velocity does not exceed 1 1 miles. Accord- 
ingly, as the aerial polar current, with the slower rotatory 
speed of higher latitudes impressed upon it, approaches 
the tropics, it is unable to keep pace with the increased 
rotatory movement of the surface, and it lags behind, or is 
" deflected " in a direction which must necessarily be the 
opposite to that in which the earth is moving. Now the 
earth moves from west to east. The north polar current, 
therefore, gradually becomes converted into a northeast 
Trade, while the south polar current gradually changes 
into a southeast Trade. If all parts of the earth moved 
with the same speed, or if there were no rotatory move- 
ment at all, the polar currents would be due north and 
south, or at right angles to the equator ; but the eastern 
impulse which they gradually acquire causes them to move 
in the diagonal between. 

The westerly winds prevailing beyond the Trades are 
due to causes just the reverse of those now mentioned, 
being produced by currents of air returning from the 
equator toward the poles. In commencing its journey 
the current had acquired, like the surface on which it 
rested, a velocity of 16 miles per minute in an easterly 
direction ; which merely means that its movement was in 
equilibrium with that of the earth itself But when it 



1 66 The Winds of God, 

reached a latitude, say as high as 45°, it found itself in a 
part of the globe where, from the contraction of the circle, 
the rotatory pace had been reduced to 1 1 miles per minute. 
Instead, therefore, of lagging behind, as in the case of the 
Trades, the tendency of the momentum it has acquired 
is to push it on toward the east more rapidly than the 
surface over which it passes. The result is a prevailing 
southwesterly wind. 

In thinking of the benefits derived from these useful 
winds, it is impossible not to admire the combination of 
wonderful adjustments by which they are brought about. 
The very same cosmical conditions which give us the 
Trades, are made likewise by the All-wise Creator to pro- 
duce the winds which blow in the opposite direction. The 
constitution of the atmosphere, the shape of the earth, the 
rapidity of its axial rotation, the effect of the sun's rays, are 
all regulated and fitted into each other in such a way as to 
secure for commerce the advantage of these regional winds. 

Although the Trades blow with regularity nearly across 
the entire Atlantic, there is a strip extending about eighty 
miles off the coast of Africa where the influence of the 
northeast Trade is scarcely perceived, forming a remark- 
able example of the effect of deserts in turning the winds 
out of what may be considered their natural course. At 
no great distance in the interior the scorched sands of 
Sahara are continually sending up vast streams of air into 
the higher regions of the atmosphere, and hence the cooler 
air off the coast, instead of being left free to the influences 
which rule the Trades, is sucked away in the opposite 
direction — rushing to the east, and not to the west — in 
order to supply the void in the atmosphere of the desert. 
It is, in reality, a perpetual sea-breeze on a large scale, 
neutralizing and vanquishing the influences which create 
the Trade. It was, probably, this very breeze which pre- 
vented the Portuguese from exploring in a westerly direc- 
tion, and retarded the discovery of America ; for, in push- 



The Winds of God, ' 167 

ing toward the south, they hugged the coast of Africa, 
within safe reach of this wind, and therefore never got 
within range of the Trade. On the other hand, had there 
been no Trade, Columbus would never have discovered 
America. That daring explorer, instead of creeping along 
the coast kept well out to sea, and soon, therefore, fell in 
with the Trade. It blew so steadily and carried him so 
far and so swiftly to the westward that his crew began to 
fear it was a wind that would never change. The cease- 
less breeze seemed hurrying them hopelessly on and on 
into that mysterious sea which tradition had crowded with 
superstitious terrors. Fear, as usual, was fast loosening 
the bands of discipline, and mutiny was on the point of 
breaking out, when the sight of the eagerly desired land 
rescued Columbus from his difficulty, and placed a new 
world in the hitherto unknown void. 

The same conditions which produce the Trade-winds on 
the ocean exist, of course, on land also, but the disturbing 
influences of hills and other circumstances generally pre- 
vent them from being so well marked, or even distinguish- 
able at all. In tropical plains of great extent, however, 
they are sensibly perceived. Thus in South America there 
is a variable Trade-wind which, sweeping up the level 
Valley of the Amazon, enables vessels to sail against the 
course of the stream. 

The Monsoons of the Indian Ocean are likewise great 
aids to commerce, and both on this account and for other 
important reasons are charged with blessings to man. 
They may be described generally as blowing six months, 
in one direction and six months in another, but there is a 
longer or shorter interval of variable winds and storms in^ 
terposed between them. From April to October the south- 
west Monsoon prevails, and ships sailing northward from 
the Cape find, about the latitude of 12 deg. south, a wind 
which wafts them toward the southern shores of Asia. 
From October to April the northeast Monsoon has its 



1 68 The Winds of God, 

turn, and speeds the homeward-bound merchantmen across 
the Indian Ocean on their way to England. The south- 
west Monsoon is due to the same cause which has been 
pointed out as interrupting the continuity of the Trades 
off the coast of Africa — the influence of the desert. In 
the present instance, the work of the Sahara is done by 
the deserts lying in Central Asia, beyond the Himalayas ; 
and the wind, while being drawn in toward them, showers 
down in profusion over the parched plains of Hindostan 
the refreshing water it has gathered up in the Indian 
Ocean. Some additional observations on these winds will 
be found in the chapter which treats of '" Showers and 
Dew." 

The hot sand of the Asian desert during the summer 
half-year attracts the southwest Monsoon, but it has no 
corresponding action in causing the northeast Monsoon. 
In winter the sand of the desert partakes of the surround- 
ing comparatively cold temperature, and exerts no special 
influence on the direction of the wind. The northeast 
Monsoon in the Indian Ocean is, therefore, merely the re- 
sumption by the air of that course which it would have 
taken in summer also but for the disturbing attraction of 
the desert. It is in reality the northeast Trade, similar 
to that which prevails in the Atlantic and Pacific. But 
there are no extensive deserts situated in the southern di- 
vision of the Indian Ocean, and consequently the south- 
east Trade blows there with comparative regularity all the 
year round. 

It is interesting to remark that the sandy deserts, which 
one might have been inclined to consider as mere incum- 
brances on the earth, are thus of high importance in Na- 
ture's economy. They may, indeed, be often regarded as 
vast suction-pumps, providentially placed at certain sta- 
tions on the earth, to create winds and help on the trans- 
port of moisture to lands that are in want of it. But for 
the Thibetian deserts there would have been no southwest 



The Winds of God, 169 

Monsoon ; and without the Monsoon, the fertile plains of 
Hindostan would have been a waste of sand. 

It is at first sight more difficult to understand the ad- 
vantages of winds like the Khamsin and Harmattan, over- 
powering the traveler in the desert with their suffocating 
blasts j or the Sirocco of Italy and Greece, prostrating 
mind and body under its hot, moist, relaxing breath ; or 
the Typhoon of the China seas ; or the hurricane of the 
West Indies ; or the Cyclone which revolves across the 
ocean. The evil they inflict is obvious, while the good 
they do is obscure. But that they harmonize with all God's 
other laws, and that their operation is ultimately beneficial 
to the world, we may confidently believe. The currents 
and admixture they promote in the air are of importance 
to the general welfare, and without doubt outweigh the lo- 
cal inconvenience they produce. It is often observed that 
great storms are followed by a sensible improvement in 
the air and by a feeling of increased comfort ; hence it may 
justly be inferred that they are sent to cure something that 
is going wrong in Nature's household. We know that the 
storm sometimes checks the pestilence which human skill 
fails to subdue. On the banks of the La Plata, in South 
America, there is a prevailing wind which comes, charged 
with the germs of intermittent fever, from the marshes 
lying to the north. The wretched inhabitants droop and 
sicken and shiver into their graves. Suddenly a hurricane 
sweeps over the pampas from the cold summits of the An- 
des in the southwest, and in a few days the seeds of the 
disease are roughly yet effectually expelled. It has, more- 
over, been remarked that cholera epidemics in this coun- 
try have usually been attended with great stillness in the 
atmosphere, by which the operation of causes tending to 
concentrate the disease was no doubt favored. Therefore, 
when we hear the stormy wind howling round our houses, 
and sweeping through our courts and closes, let us think 



170 



The Winds of God, 



of it as one of Nature's most efficient sanitary agents, by 
which she renovates the air that was tainted through stag- 
nation, and scatters the seeds of the pestilence that were 
growing up for our destruction. 

He bringeth the wind out of His treasures. — Ps. cxxxv. 





.FIRE AND HEAT. 

O ye Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord : praise Him^ and magnify 

Him for enjer. 

11 RE and Heat enter so essentially into the grand 
jl operations of Nature that there are few of them 
which might not fitly be considered in this place. 
Heat is truly an almost universal " Power of the Lord • " 
it is the force of forces, the mainspring of movement, and 
nothing is either too great or too small to be beyond its 
action. How busily it is ever at work among the natural 
features invoked in the hymn ! It streams from the sun 
and the stars ; it rules among the planets. Winter and 
Summer, Climate, Winds, Showers and Dew, Ice and 
Snow, Cloud and Seas, exist only through its operation ; 
the Green Things upon the earth, Cattle, the Fowls of 
the air, and all that move in the waters, depend on it for 
life. Under its agency the earth itself has been com- 
pounded and shaped. Heat is the great antagonist of the 
attraction exercised between the particles of matter, which, 
were they not forced by it into expansion and openness, 
would condense into one solid mass. 

In the affairs of daily life Fire and Heat are absolutely 
necessary to our welfare. Without them the thousand 
needful processes of home would be brought to a stand- 
still. Of Fire steam is born — a power which we have 
subdued and trained to do our work, which fetches and 
carries, which lifts and lowers for us with more than a 
giant's strength, which feeds and clothes us, and which 
wafts us for business or pleasure over land and sea. Fire 



172 Fire and HeaL 

wins our metals from the ore, and fashions them into a 
thousand shapes for our convenience. Heat is the strong- 
est of that band of Nature's servants which work without 
ceasing and which know neither fatigue nor slumber. 

The great fountain of Fire and Heat is the sun. " There 
is nothing hid " from it. Its rays, however, are very un- 
equally distributed over the earth, and without some cor- 
rective agency there would be an excess of heat at the 
tropics, and a degree of cold in high latitudes incompat- 
ible with life. Now the great equalizers of heat are, as 
we have seen, air and water, and, to a less extent, the crust 
of the earth itself, whose superficial layers are continually 
transmitting a wave of warmth from the tropics toward 
the poles. 

When we say that, in the ordinary business of life, the 
source of heat is the combustion of fuel, we may probably 
be only indicating another shape in which the sun's rays 
minister to our welfare. It may truly be, as is suggested 
in the beautiful theoiy of Professor Tyndall, that the heat 
given out by bodies in combustion is only the yielding up 
of those rays of the sun which had for ages been impris- 
oned within them, and that a piece of coal is only a store 
of condensed sun-heat, absorbed during the time when it 
was being formed. 

The fuel which offers itself most obviously to the notice 
of man is wood ; and, as it exists abundantly in most 
countries, it has invariably happened that the fagot pre- 
ceded the use of the mineral. That the employment of 
wood should have continued so long in England is easy to 
understand when we consider the extent of her ancient 
forests. When Julius Caesar landed on these coasts the 
whole country was a vast wood, and a British town meant 
little more than a patch inclosed and cleared, with a few 
huts for men and sheds for cattle. But before a thousand 
years had passed the character of the country had alto- 
gether changed ; and the Conqueror, in carving out his 



Fire and Heat, 173 

New Forest, so far from merely appropriating an unoccu- 
pied woody country, pulled down thirty villages and 
churches, and dispeopled a wide, cultivated district. It 
must be recollected, however, that this occurred near Win- 
chester, the then capital of the kingdom, where the popu- 
lation was comparatively dense, and the proportion of ara- 
ble land greatest. Elsewhere forests abounded, and for 
centuries continued to abound, all over England. Alas ! 
where are her old forests now ? Of the ninety that were 
flourishing in the last century barely half a dozen survive. 
Among these the Conqueror's forest, though shrunk from 
its old limits, still ranks first in extent, and affords some 
of the finest " rambling " ground in England. Nor let us 
be unmindful of Royal Windsor, where scenes of sylvan 
beauty occur that are unsurpassed on earth. Of the other 
forests some, we grieve to say, like glorious old Hainault 
and Epping, are being nibbled and pared out of existence 
before our eyes, and no voice is raised to save them from 
ruin. Soon they will exist only in song and story. The 
loss of others, such as Bere in Hampshire, is less to be 
regretted. They had served their time, and fell naturally 
before the plow in their old age, after centuries of use- 
fulness. With forests like these we part reluctantly, but 
the demands of agriculture must be satisfied. 

In the olden time, as now, abundance of fuel carried 
with it the principal manufactures, and, for obvious rea- 
sons, the smelting of iron more especially. This most 
useful of all metals, like nearly every thing else that is ser- 
viceable to man, has been distributed very widely over the 
earth. It is a constituent of nearly every soil and rock, 
it can often be traced in water and even in air, and it also 
exists in the tissues of most animals and vegetables. The 
great storehouse, however, from which we derive our sup- 
plies is iron-ore, in which the metal is usually combined 
with oxygen or with carbonic acid, and in no instance is 
iron found naturally in a pure state except when it exists 



174 Fire and Heat. 

in the meteoric form. In the various processes for reduc- 
ing it to its metallic condition, Fire, aided by a certain 
amount of carbon, and with a portion of limestone as a 
flux, is the chief agent employed. Wherever, therefore, 
iron-ore and fuel are found near together there the man- 
ufacture establishes itself, and it is to this circumstance 
more especially that England owes her preeminence in the 
production of this metal. 

Before the days of coal, iron was smelted with wood ; 
and as Sussex and the forest of Dean not only contained 
the ore but were abundantly provided with timber, they 
became the first seats of the English iron manufacture. 
In process of time, as the forests were cut down, the 
works were transferred from Sussex to the iron fields of 
the north and west, where the furnaces' would be heated 
and the ore smelted by coal found abundantly on the spot. 
And in proportion as, in these days, the use of iron has 
expanded and driven other competing substances almost 
out of the field, an ever-bountiful Providence has led man 
to new stores of the metal practically inexhaustible. The 
most recently discovered field in Yorkshire has an extent 
of several hundred square miles, and alone would be suffi- 
cient to meet the present enormous demand for many cen- 
turies to come. In the year 1863 considerably more than 
nine millions of tons of iron were produced in the United 
Kingdom, at the cost of a consumption of coals equal to 
two millions of tons. Most of the other valuable metals 
obtained in this country are also won by the agency of Fire 
and Heat, from which may be estimated the services per- 
formed by them in a single department only. If we add 
to the operations of metallurgy the labors of the coal-pit, 
we have a branch of industry in the prosecution of which 
immense numbers of our population obtain the means of 
daily support. 

Coal is the most valuable fuel in existence. It is, how- 
ever, a singular illustration of the slowness with which 



Fire and Heat, 175 

useful discoveries are made, even under favorable cir- 
cumstances, that some thousands of years should have 
rolled over the world before the superiority of coal over 
wood as a heat-producer came to be generally recognized. 
The inferiority of wood is in great measure due to the 
quantity of water which it contains ; as the water, in pass- 
ing off in a state of vapor, absorbs much heat which 
would otherwise have become sensible. Hence, also, the 
advantage of keeping wood that is to be used for fuel un- 
til it becomes dry. Coal was unknown to the Greeks and 
Romans ; and although cinders have been found in the 
excavations at Uriconium, it is doubtful if it began to be 
burnt as fuel in England until long after the Romans had 
left. It is probable, however, that the black lumps found 
here and there upon the surface, or in digging for wells, 
or in other accidental ways, were known to be combusti- 
ble long before the increase of population and the dwind- 
ling away of the forests forced men, as it were, to the 
regular use of coal. Like many other valuable discover- 
ies, it had for centuries to contend against the prejudices 
of numerous enemies, and many evil things were said 
about it. In the 13th and 14th centuries it was the fash- 
ion to petition against it as a nuisance, just as we now 
protest against noxious exhalations from chemical works. 
So prejudicial to health were coals considered, that they 
were not tolerated in London, or even in its vicinity, un- 
der the severest penalty, and a smith who used them in 
his forge instead of wood was in danger of being sent to 
prison. Not until toward the ►year 1400 did the use of 
coal become general in the metropolis, and, even after 
that, wood continued to be the fuel of the country until 
the time of Charles I. 

Although we speak of coal as a mineral, it is neverthe- 
less of vegetable origin. Every particle of it, except that 
earthy residuum which in good coal is very small in 
amount, once formed part of a living plant. There is a 



176 Fire and Heat, 

kind called Lignite, which often consists of little else than 
fossilized trees; but the more perfect varieties may be 
considered as having their origin in peat-producing plants 

— chiefly mosses — which have been in the course of 
time compressed and metamorphosed into coal. All 
traces of moss structure have for the most part been ob- 
literated. But in the same way as fragments of wood have 
been abundantly preserved in our bogs, so in the coal 
strata — those bogs of ancient days — relics of the trees 
which once flourished beside the peat are frequently found, 
likewise converted into coal, and in them the original 
structure of the wood, even to its microscopic details, is 
often beautifully displayed. 

The quantity of carbon anciently extracted from the air, 
fixed in the tissues of plants, and then gradually converted 
into coal, is enormous. The area of all the known coal- 
fields in the world is computed to be 220,000 square miles 

— more than the whole surface of France — which, allow- 
ing a moderate average thickness of 20 feet, would be 
equal to a solid cube nearly 10 miles in dimension. As 
Professor Rogers observes, it would form " a square pla- 
teau 100 miles wide at the base, and more than 500 feet 
in height." The proportion of our British lump of coal 
" would be a cube of a little more than three miles in 
diameter." 

Within the last century the consumption of coals has 
increased to an extent never dreamt of by our forefathers. 
In round numbers we are using up about 100 millions of 
tons annually. Who can -enumerate or even conceive the 
sum of enjoyment which is daily extracted from this huge 
black heap? How many millions of hearths are made 
cheery by its glow, how many palaces and cottages are 
filled by it with comfort-bringing heat. What countless 
numbers of things of use or beauty are manufactured by 
its aid for our enjoyment. For how many mouths does it 
not prepare daily food. What great work is there which 



Fire and Heat, 177 

it does not help on ? From its dull-looking fragments is 
distilled the gas which brightens up our houses and our 
streets. To coals we owe steam, and what is there in 
these days which we do not owe to steam ? Steam gives 
us muscles stronger than iron, and yet finer in action than 
the most delicate hand. With the tools which man's in- 
genuity has provided, it labors incessantly without rest, 
and performs its task with a certainty and exactness with 
which nothing human can compete. Be the work rough 
or smooth, coarse or fine, steam adjusts itself to it with 
matchless skill. Steam wields the ponderous hammer as 
if it were no heavier than a feather, and can with equal 
ease crush an iron beam or crack a nutshell. The 
amount of labor saved and the physical strength thus 
gifted to man are enormous. Give a good steam-engine a 
bushel of coals, and it will lift a weight of 125 million lbs. 
one foot from the ground ! Every three tons of coals are 
" the convertible equivalent of one man's life-long mus- 
cular activity." The 15 millions of tons annually con- 
sumed in this country in the production of mechanical 
force is equal to 20 millions of horses, or to a band of 
100 millions of men ! The power thus acquired is turned 
at will into an infinity of channels, all working in the ser- 
vice of man. 

By the beneficent design of Providence coal-mines are 
widely distributed over the earth, and our own islands, 
more especially, have been blessed with an abundance 
that calls for thankfulness. The aggregate extent of our 
coal-fields amounts to no less than five thousand four hun- 
dred square miles. Yet when we consider our enormous 
consumption and reckless waste, we wonder not that 
thoughtful minds should look forward with anxiety to the 
possible advent of a day when our pits shall have become 
exhausted. That day may be distant ; still it is confess- 
edly not so very remote as to lie beyond the range of pres- 
ent interest. In a question of this nature, where the 
12 



178 Fire and Heat, 

difficulty of obtaining exact data is so great, it is but nat- 
ural that opinions should widely differ ; but, on the whole, 
we may accept with some confidence the assurance that 
the stock of coal yet on hand will suffice for at least a 
thousand years to come. 

Within the last few years the bounteous earth has 
yielded up to man another source of light and heat in 
Petroleum, which has already assumed commercially the 
highest importance. It was observed during the Burmese 
war that rock-oil was much used by the natives for ordi- 
nary illumination ; and, when peace was concluded, it be- 
gan to be imported into this country. It is now obtained 
in considerable quantities from other quarters also, es- 
pecially from the districts on the Lower Danube. But all 
these sources are thrown into the shade by the oil-wells 
of North Araerica. In 1863 the quantity raised from the 
Pennsylvanian springs alone was 40 millions of gallons, 
while that from Canada amounted to 250,000 gallons ; and 
since then the produce has been steadily increasing. In 
this country, after purification. Petroleum is much used 
as oil for lamps ; and paraffine, or mineral-wax candles, 
are also extensively manufactured from it. Large quanti- 
ties of oil of an excellent quality are likewise obtained 
from the shale in contiguity with the coal measures, a 
substance which only a year or two ago was deemed refuse 
of no value. A single ton of the Torbanehill mineral is 
capable of producing 120 gallons of oil. Recent trials 
also indicate that Petroleum is well adapted as fiiel for 
marine engines, as it produces a larger quantity of steam 
in proportion to its bulk than can be obtained from coal. 

How much it seems to be a matter of course to see the 
fire burning brightly on a cold winter night. We enjoy 
the comfort it diffiises, and, perhaps, we congratulate our- 
selves that coals are so easy to be had. But how rarely 
do we carry our thoughts a step further, or reflect upon 
the extraordinary nature of the blessing. Countless ages 



Fire and Heat, 179 

ago our Father anticipated our wants and provided for 
their relief. The coal we burn is, so to speak, manufac- 
tured, and the manufacture was established thousands of 
years ago, when God caused to grow the mosses and other 
little plants which by slow accumulation became masses 
of peat. The raw material then went through other long 
processes. It was compressed and solidified and chem- 
ical changes were wrought in it. Then, lastly, the pre- 
cious coal was stowed away carefully in the cellars of the 
earth on purpose that we might be made warm and happy 
by the " Fire and Heat," which from the beginning of its 
creation it was designed to supply. 

In looking back at the history of fuel, the mind that 
loves to trace design in the ways of Providence cannot 
fail to be struck by the wise economy with which the 
treasures of the earth have been gradually unlocked, and 
one supply after another has been granted as the neces- 
sity for it seemed to arise. In the old time, when forests 
were everywhere and population was sparse, wood was the 
fuel invariably used. So long as manufactures were in 
their infancy the primeval forest answered all demands 
made on it. But in process of time population multiplied, 
and it was necessary to strip the land of trees on purpose 
that it might be sown with corn. Wood then became less 
abundant. New sources of heat were, therefore, abso- 
lutely needed ; so God taught man the use of coal, which 
had previously been esteemed mere rubbish. Again, as 
oil from the old supplies became more scarce, and the 
demand for street and house lighting increased, the gas 
imprisoned in the coal was discovered, and our power of 
illumination was thereby almost indefinitely augmented. 
To economize Nature's resources vegetable wax and vari- 
ous vegetable oils have also recently been much employed. 
Lastly Petroleum was discovered, and the oil fountains of 
the earth were made to flow for our use. There is still 
the probability that some of the metals may be made avail- 



i8o Fire and Heat, 

able for illumination, and that before many years are over 
our means may be still further economized by a more fre- 
quent application of the electric light. Have we now ar- 
rived, it may be asked, at the end of the long list of Na- 
ture's resources, and are we to believe that when the last 
coal-pit has been worked out, and the last oil-spring emp- 
tied, we shall be left to perish with cold, or at least to live 
miserably, deprived of the comforts which for so many 
ages have been placed within our reach ? With the firmest 
conviction we repel such a thought. It is utterly repug- 
nant to our knowledge of the merciful ways of Providence. 
Our Father enriches but never impoverishes the earth, 
and the intelligence of His creatures is ever made the 
means by which new gifts are discovered. The essential 
constituents of fuel are only two — carbon and hydrogen. 
To them wood, coal, and every other kind of fuel owe 
their heating virtue. Now the world is literally packed 
with carbon and hydrogen, and it is not in the power of 
man to dissipate these elements of supply. Carbon is 
the staple out of which animals and vegetables are built 
up ; it is a constituent of many rocks and of every soil, 
and it pervades the air. Hydrogen is even more abun- 
dant. It forms one ninth part by weight of every drop of 
water on the globe, and therefore it may be said that 
rivers and lakes and the ocean itself are vast reservoirs 
of latent fire. Of the two constituents of water, one — 
oxygen — is an admirable promoter of combustion, and 
the other — hydrogen — bums under ordinary circum- 
stances with more heat than coal, while by the skillful ad- 
mixture of the two a temperature of the highest intensity 
is produced. We do not attempt in these conjectural 
hints to indicate the way in which such materials will be 
made available, and the want of coal supplied, but only 
to point out that sources of " Fire and Heat " exist every- 
where around us, and that, when need comes, God will in- 
spire His children with wisdom to turn them to account. 



Fire and Heat. 



i8i 



In looking into the future, therefore, let us dismiss anxiety 
from our minds, in the firm conviction that Nature's re- 
sources are boundless, and that, if the world be still exist- 
ent in those far-off days, God will not forsake the race for 
whom His providence has done, and daily does so much. 

O put your trust in Him alway. — Ps. Ixii. 





FROST AND COLD. -- ICE AND SNOW. 

O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord : praise Himj and mag- 
nify Him for enjer. 

O ye Ice and Sno'W, bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and magnify 

Him for e^uer. 

IROST and snow are so often associated in the 
mind with physical suffering, or with bleak winter 
and inhospitable polar regions, that their services 
in Nature's economy are apt to be overlooked. That the 
Three Children understood their operation better is ob- 
vious from the circumstance that cold and its effects are 
dwelt upon in the hymn with a minuteness bordering on 
redundancy, as illustrations not only of Power but also of 
Goodness and Wisdom. 

It seems unnecessary to remind any of my readers that 
cold has no existence as a separate or independent princi- 
ple, and that it merely implies in a general way the lower 
ranges of temperature. The word, therefore, will fre- 
quently be found in the remarks that follow, both because 
it is a convenient term, familiarly used and well under- 
stood by all, and because it has been specially introduced 
Into the hymn! 

Snow has its well-known aspects of beauty. Where can 
the eye rest upon such an expanse of purest, dazzling white 
as the unbroken sheet it lays upon the fields in winter, and 
how picturesque the trees appear with the snow-flakes 
clinging to their twigs and branches. Bathed in the light 
of the sun the snow-wreath often sends back the color in 
pale but beautiful reflection. At sunrise and at sunset 



Frost and Cold. — Ice and Snow. 183 

the snow-clad Alps glow in rose and gold. Sometimes 
the snow, especially of polar regions, is tinted red by- 
myriads of minute algae which a pass frugal life upon its 
sterile surface, and the famous crimson snow-cliffs of Baf- 
fin's Bay arrest the attention of the passing navigator at a 
distance of ten miles from the shore. The beauty of snow 
is of that true kind that bears a close inspection. A few 
grains taken from the heap that gathers upon the window- 
sill will exhibit the prettiest crystals when looked at in the 
microscope. 

Ice is even more beautiful than snow. Who has not 
stopped to admire the sunbeams playing with the icicles 
and winning glowing tints from their cold surface, or the 
windows encrusted with their frosty featherings, or the 
trees decked stiffly in fleeting robes of crystal ? Who has 
not peered curiously at the stones and plants lying under 
the clear sheet of glass in which ice wraps up the brook in 
winter. Sometimes it is prettily " belled " with air, as if 
the water had been suddenly struck motionless in the act 
of effervescence ; sometimes the tiny air-globules are so 
crowded together as to make the ice look white like 
hardened snow. But it is in glaciers, more especially, 
that the most beautiful tints are to be seen. Transmitted 
light frequently imparts a greenish color to their masses ; 
at other times, they assume the milky dimness of the opal. 
Sometimes their huge fragments have been compared to 
blocks of beryl ; more rarely their blue has the fine tint of 
aquamarine. Not unfrequently the ice decks itself in all 
the colors of the rainbow. The play of the low, midnight 
sun on the glaciers of the coast of Greeland has been 
described as making " the ice around one great resplen- 
dency of gem-work, blazing carbuncle and rubies and mol- 
ten gold." 

Ice water is purer than that procured from snow. The 
latter, besides the air mixed with it, usually contains some 
animal matter and other impurities gathered from the 



184 Frost and Cold, 

atmosphere. In freezing, water has a strong tendency to 
free itself from the foreign matters it may contain ; and 
advantage has been taken of this circumstance, in arctic 
regions, to procure, on the one hand, salt ; and, on the 
other, drinkable water. M*^Clintock found that in each 
successive freezing the ice became less salt ; until, after 
the fourth time, ice was formed which on melting yielded 
fresh water. From the brine left behind salt was readily 
procured by evaporation. 

The Three Children could not survey the river that 
washed the walls of Babylon without being reminded how 
much it owed to frost and snow. In the fierce Mesopota- 
mian summer, when wells were drying up and many 
streams had ceased to flow, the Euphrates was still fed 
from the snowy reservoirs of the Armenian Mountains. 
And when the people, like Nature all around, drooped 
under the withering heat of the sun, the winds which 
braced their exhausted nerves gathered coolness from the 
same high sources. 

As there are " sweet uses in adversity," so does the 
rigor of winter in northern climates enhance the enjoyment 
of summer. Thankful thoughts should rise when we call 
to mind the wood and coal and springs of oil given to us 
as means by which cold may be mitigated or subdued. 
These, no doubt, are commonplace subjects and reflec- 
tions. Our life itself is spent among commonplace things ; 
but, when we make them lead to thoughts that honor God, 
we elevate them above their commonness and invest them 
with the dignity of aiding devotion. 

It is well known that water under ordinary circum- 
stances freezes at 32° Fahr. In passing to the solid state 
it expands with a force sufficient to burst pipes of lead, or 
even of iron, as householders know to their cost. This 
force, which acts on a vast scale over the greater part of 
the world, may well be deemed one of the " Powers of 
the Lord." Thus it splits wood, rends the rock, and 
breaks up the weather-worn fragments into fertile soil. 



Ice and Snow, 185 

Under vaiying circumstances cold produces the different 
effects mentioned in the hymn. It converts water into 
ice, and atmospheric vapor into rain or snow or hail ; and 
when the vapor is in contact with the ground, instead of 
being deposited as dew, it may be frozen into hoar-frost. 
Cold brings sleep to the vegetable world, and prepares it 
by a period of rest to burst forth with fresh vigor in the 
spring. Snow and frost are valuable servants to the 
husbandman. By expanding the moisture with which the 
hard clods are permeated, Frost crumbles them down and 
renders the stiff land friable, porous, and mellow. Frost, 
likewise, rids the soil of some of its insect or vermin life, 
which, but for this check, might increase to an extent that 
would seriously damage the crops. In winter it gives the 
soft, moist ground the necessary hardness to allow field 
operations to be carried on. Snow is even more useful. 
It covers up the tender plants as with a blanket, and pre- 
serves them against the effects of excessive cold. " He 
giveth snow like wool." The blanket thus softly laid on is 
" a bad conductor," neither allowing the heat which is in 
the earth to pass out, nor, if we may use the expression, 
the external cold to pass in. Observation shows that the 
inner surface of the snow seldom falls much below 32° 
Fahr., although the temperature of the air outside may be 
many degrees under the freezing point ; and it is found 
that the crops can stand this amount of cold without 
injury, so long as their covering protects them firom the 
raking influence of the wind. In climates where the 
winter's cold is longer and more intense than in our sea- 
girt island, the protecting influence of the snow is more 
conspicuously marked. In northern climates snow, in its 
own fashion, sometimes opens out routes which were im- 
practicable in summer from their ruggedness, and prepares 
a path for the sledge, or for the " lumberer," over which 
the largest stems of the forest may be dragged with ease 
to the canal or river. 



1 86 Frost and Cold, 

In polar regions snow supplies the ever-ready material 
out of which the Esquimaux construct their houses, and 
hardy explorers extemporize the huts in which they find 
shelter when absent from their ships on distant expedi- 
tions. Nor are the ships themselves considered " snug in 
winter-quarters " until their sides have been banked up in 
walls of snow, and the roof raised over the deck has been 
thickly covered with it. Experience has proved that a 
layer of frozen snow, four inches thick, forms an excellent 
thatch for houses and ships in those biting regions. Snow 
huts are warmer than might have been anticipated. If 
built on ice covering the sea, their temperature is sensibly 
affected by the heat of the unfrozen water below, which is 
said seldom to fall much under 40° Fahr. in any part of 
the ocean. Even where the external temperature has sunk 
to 20° or 30° below zero, sufficient warmth is produced in 
a snow hut by the huddling together of three or four per- 
sons within it. When Kane passed a cold arctic winter's 
night in the hut of " Mrs. Eiderduck," beyond Smith's 
Sound, the temperature produced by its complement of 
lodgers and two or three oil lamps reached 90° Fahr. ; so 
that he was compelled by the heat to follow the example 
of the rest of the party and partially to divest himself of 
his clothing. In latitude 79° north, Kane marked a tem- 
perature of 75° below zero in the month of February. No 
fluid could resist it. Even chloric ether became solid, and 
the air was pungent and acrid in respiration. 

How great soever may be the intensity of the cold which 
is naturally produced in high latitudes, it is moderate in 
comparison to that which can be obtained by artificial 
means. The principle of freezing-mixtures depends on 
the fact that heat is absorbed and becomes " latent " when- 
ever a solid passes into a liquid state, or when a liquid 
passes into vapor ; and that cold is, therefore, produced in 
the medium from which that heat is withdrawn. This is 
easily illustrated by the cold which is excited when a little 



Ice and Snow, 187 

Eau de Cologne is placed on the forehead and allowed to 
evaporate. The intensity of the cold is in proportion to 
the rapidity with which the vaporization is accomplished. 
Snow melts- in temperatures above 32°, and produces a 
certain amount of cold ; but if we can, by mixing it with 
some solvent, make it melt faster, a greater degree of cold 
is the result. Thus a mixture of equal parts of snow and 
common salt brings down the temperature from 32° to 
zero, merely from the rapidity with which the salt causes 
snow to change from the solid to the liquid form. When, 
therefore, in winter the pathway is strewn with salt, the 
snow no doubt quickly disappears, but at the cost of an 
amount of cold which may be very dangerous to persons 
who have to wade through it. 

The greatest artificial cold, however, is produced not by 
liquefaction but by evaporation. Alcohol, ether, and Eau 
de Cologne evaporate quickly and cause cold ; but there 
are substances which by skillful management can be made 
to evaporate much more rapidly, and, therefore, to produce 
a much greater amount of cold. There are many sub- 
stances, of which carbonic acid is an example, which in 
their natural state exist as gases, but which by a combina- 
tion of pressure to eliminate, or, as it were, " squeeze out " 
their component heat, and of a surrounding cold mixture 
to absorb this heat the instant it is developed, may be 
made to assume a liquid, or even a solid state. Subse- 
quently when these agencies are removed the solid evapo- 
rates, or resumes its natural condition of a gas with almost 
explosive rapidity, producing, by its inordinate absorption 
of heat, a most intense cold in things in contact with it. 
By employing a bath of solid carbonic acid and ether, 
Faraday produced a cold equal to 106° below zero in the 
open air, and 166° in vacuo. But even this intense tem- 
perature has been left far behind by Natterer, who, by em- 
ploying in vacuo a mixture of protoxide of nitrogen and 
bisulphide of carbon, produced a cold equal to 220° below 
zero. 



1 88 Frost and Cold, 

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that heat, 
as a rule, causes bodies to expand. The iron rod which, 
when cold, just passes easily through a ring, can no longer 
do so when it has been made hot, on account of the ex- 
pansion it has undergone. It is to make allowance for 
this swelling during the summer's heat that the ends of 
the iron rails " on the line " are not placed in actual con- 
tact, but have a little space left between them ; and it is 
from the contraction which the heated iron tire undergoes 
on cooling that it is made to clasp firmly round the wheel, 
when water is dashed upon it. In this manner the expan- 
sion or contraction of bodies under the application of heat 
or cold is turned to account in many operations. Some- 
times, on the other hand, those qualities lead to incon- 
veniences, which for the most part may be removed by the 
exercise of that ingenuity which man has received for the 
purpose. There is one substance — water — which has 
been made an exception to the general rule by the Creator, 
with a design so clearly merciful that none can fail to 
appreciate it with thankfulness. Let us first consider what 
would have happened if water had been subject, through- 
out all temperatures, to the regular law of contraction on 
the application of cold. We will suppose it is winter, and 
that sharp frost is at work upon lake and river. As each 
layer of water on the surface cooled, it would contract, 
and by thus becoming denser it would sink to the bottom. 
Another layer of water would necessarily take its place 
upon the top, and being cooled in its turn, would likewise 
sink. In this manner a continuous circulation of cold 
water to the bottom and warmer water to the surface 
would go on until all the water had been cooled down to 
32° Fahrenheit, when the whole mass would suddenly set 
into ice. Consider the evils that would arise over a large 
part of the world from such a physical arrangement. 
Breaking through the ice would lead to no unfrozen reser- 
voir below. The mills would stop. Spring, river, and lake 



Ice and Snow, 189 

would be equally involved when frost was intense and 
long continued. Animal and vegetable life existing within 
them would perish. The fishes would be caught in their 
swimming, and frozen as rigid as the prison walls of ice 
in which they were inclosed. From surface to bottom 
movement would cease, and the water would be changed 
into a solid block of crystal. 

After the frost had yielded and the genial sun once 
more shone forth, his brightest rays would have encoun- 
tered difficulty and delay in unsealing the solid mass of 
waters. A pool, no doubt, would speedily have formed 
upon the surface of the ice, but water is a " bad con- 
ductor," and would act as a screen partially to intercept 
the heat from passing more deeply. The temperature of 
the pool of water might even have been raised consider- 
ably without transmitting much heat to the mass of ice 
underneath. We all know that when heat is applied to 
water from below, as in a kettle, it is speedily " carried," 
not " conducted," to all parts by the currents immediately 
established. But if, on the other hand, the heat be ap- 
plied at the top, no downward currents are formed, and it 
must be slowly propagated by " conduction," as in a solid 
body. To exhibit the bad conducting power of water, 
Count Rumford devised a very striking experiment, which 
can be easily repeated. Having fixed some ice at the 
bottom of a tall glass jar, he filled the jar with cold water, 
and then applied heat round it near the top. In a short 
time the fluid at the upper part of the jar was found to be 
boiling briskly, while the ice at the bottom remained 
almost unaffected. Now if we imagine the ice in this ex- 
periment to be the ice at the bottom of a lake, and the 
heat artificially applied above to be the warmth imparted 
to the water by the sun's rays and the adjacent air, we 
may form some idea of the difficulty with which the mass 
of ice accumulated at the bottom of the river or lake 
would be dissolved. 



190 Frost and Cold, 

But the disorder in Nature's economy and the destruc- 
tion of life which would arise under these circumstances 
have been foreseen and obviated by a very simple and 
perfect arrangement. Providence has willed that the 
densest point of water shall be about 40° Fahrenheit. In 
cooling down to the temperature of 40°, therefore, water 
follows the universal law, and contracts. But when cooled 
beyond this point, until it passes into ice, instead of con- 
tracting it expands and becomes lighter and lighter. 
Therefore, as each successive layer on the surface attains 
a temperature of 40°, it naturally sinks to the bottom, 
where it remains^ without rising to the surface again ta 
undergo further cooling. After the whole mass of the water 
has attained this temperature, subsequent cooling makes 
it lighter, so that the coldest layer floats at the top until it 
■freezes. The result is a sheet of ice on the surface with 
a temperature not higher than 32° Fahrenheit ; while there 
is a large, free body of water underneath with a tempera- 
ture of about 40°. In this temperate region the fishes 
swim about, and with other creatures find a secure and 
genial refuge. 

The absolute perfection of this arrangement is com- 
pleted by another law which now comes into play. Ice, 
like water, is a bad conductor of heat, and therefore, of 
cold. Consequently, when a sheet of ice has once formed 
on the surface, it interposes a barrier which fences off the 
warm water below from the outside rigor of the air. It 
is as truly a blanket to the water in winter, as snow is a 
blanket to the ground, or as a great-coat is to us ; and as 
its thickness slowly increases, its efficiency augments in 
proportion. It is for this reason that the sea, even in the 
most rigorous polar climates, never freezes beyond the 
thickness of a few feet. The temperature of the air out- 
side may be 50° or more below zero, but the " slow con- 
ducting" power of the blanket of ice defends the sea 
underneath against the climatic rigor. It may be here 



Ice and Snow. 191 

remarked that sea- water does not follow the same law in 
cooling as fresh-water. Thus it freezes, according to Des- 
pretz, at a temperature of nearly 27^° Fahrenheit, while 
its density increases regularly up to that point. 

We have seen that in falling below 40° fresh-water ex- 
pands, but if in the act of solidifying it had contracted, 
much of the benefit of the arrangement just described 
would have been lost. The particles of ice as soon as 
formed would have sunk to the bottom, where they would 
have remained and been continually increased by new 
accumulations. Water being " a bad conductor," the heat 
of the winter sun would have reached the bottom with 
difficulty, while every new touch of frost during the cold 
winter nights would have precipitated more ice to add to 
the deposit below. The intervening mass of water would 
thus have been placed between two cold strata, by which 
its heat would soon have been exhausted, and the whole 
mass converted into ice. There is, perhaps, nothing within 
the range of physical science which more strikingly dis- 
plays the forethought and mercy as well as the Power of 
the Great Designer than the relations which He has estab- 
lished between water and heat. So long as the result was 
good, water was made to follow the general rule ; but the 
instant when the continuance of the law would have pro- 
duced evil. He designedly reversed its operation, and thus 
restored harmony and safety to the world. 

The work of " Frost and Cold " is seen in its grandest 
forms amid the mighty glaciers — those " silent cataracts " 
which return the waters that are above the firmament to 
those that are below the firmament in rivers of solid crys- 
tal. No picture or description can excite such emotions 
as stir the mind of him who, standing for the first time on 
the glacier's brink, thoughtfully surveys its rugged desola- 
tion, and in the midst of summer feels its icy breath creep- 
ing over him. The giant crystals of creation are before 
him — a strange, unearthly sea, with fantastic, foamy waves 



192 Frost and Cold, 

stiffened into stones, with domes and pinnacles and end- 
less fanciful resemblances of common things, with chasms 
which the eye cannot search or fathom, with caverns out 
of whose darkness mysterious streams sted forth into the 
light. What power is here sealed up ! Loosen but for a 
moment the fetters that hold this pile of waters together, 
and try to imagine the force with which the valley, with its 
green fields and smiling villages beyond, would be over- 
whelmed. What an emblem of desolation ! Life hurries 
across, but neither lingers nor lives upon it. The sounds 
that break upon the ear are all its own : the trickle of 
dropping water so clear and distinct amid the stillness ; the 
ringing click of the unseen atom of ice falling down from 
ledge to ledge in some neighboring crevasse; the sharp 
crack of some new fissure, drowned from time to time in 
the thunder of the distant avalanche. The silence that 
reigns between these sounds is so profound as to be almost 
oppressive. 

Glaciers are formed in the highest valleys of the Alps 
out of the snow precipitated directly from the atmosphere 
and the avalanches which from time to time crash down 
the mountain's side. In summer the sun partially dis- 
solves the surface, and the water in percolating through 
the mass fills up the interstices with ice. The enormous 
pressure to which the glacier is subsequently exposed as 
its bulk increases, has a still more powerful effect in con- 
densing and welding it into compact, slightly plastic ice. 
No sooner is the glacier formed than it begins to glide 
downward through the valley, receiving many contributions 
by the way. The motion of glaciers was long a disputed 
point, but for some time past it has been established be- 
yond all question. In 1836 a Chamounix guide fell into a 
crevasse in the glacier of Telefre, a feeder of the Mer de 
Glace, but contrived to escape, leaving his knapsack be- 
hind him. In 1846 the identical knapsack was yielded up 
by the glacier 4300 feet below the place where it was lost. 



Ice and Snow. 193 

In an expedition to the summit of Mont Blanc in 1820 
three guides lost their lives by the fall of an avalanche, 
which buried them beyond recovery in the glacier below. 
Fort}'' years passed by, and then some relics of their bodies 
came to light on the Glacier des Bossons, far below the 
point where the accident occurred. In the course of 1863 
and 1864 various other fragments were recovered ; and in 
1864 — that is, 44 years after the accident — there was 
found, projecting from a large hummock of ice, "an entire 
leg from the knee downward, in a state of perfect preser- 
vation, with the nails on the toes as perfect as those of the 
living." From certain marks it was recognized as having 
belonged to one of the lost guides. Many other relics 
have since been recovered, and it would appear from a 
carefully kept register that only one leg and two hands are 
now missing. From the above and other evidence there 
can be no doubt as to the motion of those enormous masses 
of ice. The force that pushes them onward is chiefly the 
weight of the accumulation behind. The rate of travel- 
ing varies according to the steepness of the valley through 
which they slide, the shape of its bed, and the rocky 
obstacles that oppose their descent, but it is computed 
to be from a few inches to two or three feet daily. The 
rising and sinking, the rending and Assuring of the glacier 
give to the surface its tempest-tost appearance. Under 
favorable circumstances it is pushed onward into the culti- 
vated valley or the plain, where its rugged, uncouth masses 
stand out in strange contrast to the bright corn-fields or 
meadows upon which it has intruded. At the point where 
the melting power of the sun balances the supply of ice 
coming from above, there the glacier ceases to advance. 
Round its termination is found the " i:poraine," or mound 
of rubbish formed of fragments of rocks, with sand and 
mud, which have either fallen upon the glacier or been 
scraped off from the sides of the valley in its downward 
progress. When the ice melts they are, of course, deposited 

13 



194 Frost and Cold, 

on the ground. These moraines are very characteristic, 
and can be easily recognized even in places from which the 
glaciers themselves have long since disappeared. Glaciers 
often leave behind them other marks by which their former 
presence may be safely inferred. Thus, the enormous 
pressure of the ice sometimes scrapes the rocks which form 
their bed, until the surface is smoothly polished, or grooved 
and fluted. The markings are of course parallel to the 
direction in which the glacier moved, and they are of so 
peculiar a character that geologists can recognize them in 
many countries — as in England and Scotland — where 
glaciers no longer exist. The remains just mentioned 
reveal a period when the condition of Europe was much 
colder than at present. The Jura Mountains, for example, 
are labelled all over with moraines and markings. The 
glaciers are gone, but the " boulders," or fragments of 
rock they transported, are left behind ; and when these are 
examined they are found to be strangers, having no affinity 
with the rocks around, but pointing to the distant Mont 
Blanc, or Monte Rosa, or the Alps of Schwytz, or the 
Oberland, as the home from which they originally came. 
Fractured roughly off from the parent mountain, many of 
them were carried tenderly across the intervening space by 
the old glacier, and were then so gently deposited in the 
moraine-bed that their edges remain sharp and fresh as 
if they had been laid there yesterday. Great though the 
size of those ancient glaciers must have been, they were 
small in comparison to the mighty Greenland glacier of 
the present day. 

By the transporting power of ice the whole of the vast" 
plain of Northern Germany, Poland, and Russia have 
been strewn with boulders brought from Scandinavian or 
other distant mountains. As a specimen we might refer to 
the magnificent tazza of granite, which has been carved 
out of one of them and placed in front of the Museum at 
Berlin. The mountains of Scotland, Cumberland, and 



Ice and Snow, 195 

Wales abound with old glacier markings, and the plains 
of our island are strewn with fragments of foreign rocks 
which were probably ice-transported. It awakens curious 
thoughts to stand on the top of Snowdon, and in imagina- 
tion look back to the time when it was a Welsh Mont 
Blanc, piercing through its Mer de Glace, and launching 
from its sides seven huge " cataracts of ice " to fill the 
neighboring valleys where Llanberis, Bettws Garmon, and 
Beddgelert now bloom in beauty. Nowhere in Great 
Britain, and scarcely in any other part of the world, can 
the traces of ancient glacier action be seen in greater per- 
fection. 

The icebergs of the ocean are means employed by Na- 
ture to provide fresh water to compensate for the evapora- 
tion going on in southern seas, and to temper the heat of 
southern latitudes. The " cold," if such an expression 
may be used, is locked up in them as they are formed in 
polar regions, and it is given out during the process of 
melting. Stated more correctly, melting produces cold 
by absorbing the heat around as the ice is passing into 
the state of water. In the -district of the Gulf Stream the 
cold of the iceberg is sometimes perceived at a distance 
of 40 miles, and the temperature which a few miles off 
may be 60°, falls to 43° or even lower in the immediate 
vicinity. In the north Atlantic, icebergs are seldom seen 
below 4o| degrees of latitude ; but in the southern hemi- 
sphere, where they are much more numerous, they are 
sometimes seen about latitude 35°, off the Cape of Good 
Hope. Some idea of their size may be formed from the 
fact that they are occasionally two miles in circumference, 
with a height of 200 feet j and it must be borne in mind 
that only one seventh part of the whole mass appears 
above the water. Parry estimated that a single iceberg 
which he saw aground in 61 fathoms must have contained 
I billion 292 million tons' weight of water. Sometimes 
the ocean is studded with them. On one occasion Scoresby 



19^ Frost and Cold, 

counted a fleet of 500 icebergs sailing majestically toward 
the south. Favored by wind and current their speed is 
equal to that of a well-manned boat. Fearful collisions 
sometimes occur between them, and pieces of wood have 
been ignited by the violent compression of the blow. Ice- 
bergs carry a freight of rocks and rubbish, estimated by 
Scoresby to be in many instances not less than 50,000 
tons in weight, which is ultimately deposited over the bed 
of the Atlantic, to the south of Newfoundland. 

Icebergs are born in the remote polar regions, being the 
offshoots of the huge glaciers which there cover up so 
much af the soil. The whole interior of Greenland is 
filled by a Mer de Glace, which in its enormous propor- 
tions dwarfs every other sea of ice that has as yet been dis- 
covered. It is estimated to have a length of 1200 miles, 
while some of the glacier-spurs proceeding from its flanks 
down the valleys into the sea have a breadth of 60 miles. 
This stupendous ice-mass is thus described by Kane : — 
" Imagine the centre of this continent of Greenland oc- 
cupied through nearly its whole extent by a deep unbroken 
sea of ice that gathers perennial increase from the water- 
shed of vast snow-covered mountains, and all the precipi- 
tation of the atmosphere upon its own surface. Imagine 
this moving onward like a great glacial river, seeking 
outlets at every fiord and valley, rolling cataracts into the 
Atlantic and Greenland seas ; and having at last reached 
the northern limit of the land that has borne it up, pour- 
ing out a mighty frozen torrent into unknown arctic space." 
In another place it is finely said that this mighty glacier 
" seems to remind one at once of time and of eternity : 
of time, since we see portions of it break off to drift and 
melt away ; and of eternity, since no change is percepti- 
ble in its appearance from age to age." 

Darwin describes icebergs crashing into the sea from 
the precipices of Terra del Fuego, and raising a wave 
high enough to swamp boats exposed to their influence. 



Ice and Snow, 197 

But the icebergs of northern polar regions are seldom 
produced by the fall of ice-cliffs -, on the contrary, they 
are launched or floated off from the glacier. The latter 
pushes onward into the sea, plowing up occasionally the 
bottom on which it rests, just as an Alpine glacier plows 
up the plain ; and after it has advanced to a distance 
which is often sufficient to submerge a large mass under 
water, the huge fragment breaks off, rises out of the sea, 
and floats away as an iceberg. The great drift of the 
glaciers in our hemisphere is down both sides of Green- 
land. Luckily for us the strong current established on 
the west of Iceland then lays hold of them, and carries 
them toward the American side of the Atlantic. Had 
their course lain toward the British Isles, our climate and 
our comfort would have been materially affected. 

For God is King of all the earth : sing ye praises with understanding. — 

Ps. xlvii. 





POWERS OF THE LORD, 

O all ye Poiuers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise Him, and 
magnify Him for enjer, 

HITHER can we go from Thy presence," or in 
what direction can we cast our eyes without per- 
ceiving that we are hedged in on every side by 
the Powers of the Lord ? Above, below, around — in the 
air, in the water, on the earth and under the earth they 
pervade creation. At every turn they reveal themselves in 
the mighty language of physical, chemical, and vital force, 
bringing home to our minds at every instant our depend- 
ence upon Him, and leading us on to thankful adoration. 

The verses of the Benedicite may be considered as a 
summary of these Powers, and many of them, therefore, 
will be found noticed elsewhere in this book. In this 
place we shall confine our attention to a few of the more 
striking illustrations drawn from the familiar objects 
around us. 

The Powers of the Lord shine forth in the heavens — 
in sun, moon, and stars — with a grandeur which we can- 
not fully comprehend, but which nevertheless elevates our 
nature in the mere effort to grasp it. In every meditation 
on those Powers we find ourselves instinctively turning 
again and again toward the sun, the great messenger of 
the Lord, which brings to our earth so much of the force 
and movement we see continually displayed upon it. 
Under Providence, the sun stands forth as the pivot of 
the solar system, sustaining and preserving by the power 
of gravity the planets that circle round it. On earth the 



Powers of the Lord, 199 

operation of the same power is no less necessary and 
universal. By solar gravity all things are attracted toward 
the centre of the sun, while by terrestrial gravity every 
thing belonging to our globe is drawn toward the centre 
of the earth. Terrestrial gravity, therefore, counteracts 
the centrifugal tendency of objects, resulting from the 
earth's rotation, and keeps them fixed upon the surface 
^vith a force of which the amount is termed their weight. 
Let us reflect how universally useful this power is. It 
holds every thing in its place. It keeps one stone pressed 
down upon another, and thus makes building practicable. 
Bodies that have little gravity, or that are light, possess 
little stability and are readily tossed hither and thither. 
Our bones and muscles, and the strength of plants and all 
other materials, are adjusted to the strain which gravity 
makes upon them. In obedience to its laws the ship 
floats upon the water, and the balloon soars into the air. 
It is gravity which enables us to balance ourselves in 
walking, running, or riding. By the adjustment of their 
gravity to the medium in which they are placed birds fly 
and fishes swim. In short there is no limit to the con- 
veniences and benefits we derive from this " Power of the 
Lord." 

Another Power essential to our well-being is Friction, 
which, in conjunction with gravity, regulates physical 
motion. It is the force which opposes displacement, which 
keeps things steady, and finally brings them, if in motion, 
to a state of rest. With every kind of movement some 
frictional opposition will always be found at work tending 
to stop its continuance. It may be the rough surface of 
the ground, or the comparatively unresisting water, or the 
still softer air, but each with varying degrees of frictional 
energy ultimately subdues the moving force, and sets the 
body at rest. Many are the attempts ingenious man has 
made to overcome this difiiculty, but his search after " per- 
petual motion " is ever bafiled by omnipresent friction, 



200 Powers of the Lord, 

and his greatest success is measured only by the gain 
implied in substituting a friction that is less for one that 
was more. Thus we oil axles and hinges, to diminish the 
rubbing opposition. Thus wheels were invented to escape 
in some degree from friction by rolling over the rough 
ground instead of scraping over it. Thus, also, by gradual 
improvement rude tracks were changed into smooth, 
macadamized roads, and these last in their turn are yield- 
ing to the even rail. Every new success has been merely 
the lessening of friction. 

In these and in many other ways friction may be said 
only to create difficulties which man's ingenuity enables 
him to overcome with more or less success ; but, as a set- 
off against these evils, let us for a moment try to realize 
what would have happened if there had been no such 
Power in existence. When a surface offers little friction 
we call it slippery ; and ice, though offering resistance 
sufficient to bring a skater or a stone gradually to rest, is 
yet remarkable for the comparative absence of friction. 
What occurs ? In venturing upon it most persons find 
their movements difficult even when the surface is level, 
but they find it impossible to stand when ice is upon the 
slope. Now if there were no such thing as friction, land 
would be no longer terra Jirma, but would be as slippery 
as ice. Without mechanical support it would have been 
impossible to ascend a hill. Horses could not have kept 
their feet against a strain ; every thing we handled would 
have slipped through our fingers with eel-like glibness. 
Quiescence and steadiness would have been banished from 
the world, and objects once set in motion would have 
gone on without stopping until brought up by some equal 
opposing force. Thus it may be perceived that the fric- 
tion of matter assists us in almost every act we perform ; 
and, without its aid, the innumerable purposed movements 
of every-day life would have been impossible in the 
general confusion of the world. " Without this property," 



Powers of the Lord. 201 

says Dr. Whewell, " apartments, if they kept their shape, 
would exhibit to us articles of furniture and of all other 
kinds sliding and creeping from side to side at every push 
and at every wind, like loose objects in a ship's cabin, 
when she is changing her course in a gale." 

Seeing that the frictional power of the atmosphere is 
sufficient to bring all things exposed to it to rest, some 
may be inclined to ask why the heavenly bodies do not 
gradually move more slowly and ultimately stop ? Long 
continued observation proves either that the orbital course 
of the heavenly bodies lies in a vacuum where friction 
does not exist, or that it takes place in a medium so at- 
tenuated that the frictional resistance practically amounts 
to nothing. All astronomers agree that the friction must 
in any case be extremely minute. " If," says Whewell, 
" Jupiter were to lose one millionth of his velocity in a 
million of years (which is far more than can be considered 
in any way probable), he would require seventy millions of 
years to lose i-i 000th of his velocity j and a period seven 
hundred times as long to reduce the velocity to one half." 

In sauntering among the scenes of this solidly planted 
world, how few there are who ever bestow a thought upon 
the Powers enchained within it. Yet our daily life is 
spent over an abyss, and comparatively a mere shell is 
all that is interposed between us and destruction. As the 
crust of the earth is explored the temperature is found to 
increase about a hundred degrees for every mile of depth j 
and consequently, if this ratio be maintained, thirty or 
forty miles beneath our feet there is a temperature so in- 
tense that most substances with which we are acquainted 
must exist in a state of fusion. Great though this depth 
may at first sight appear, it is only a hundredth part of 
the space interposed between us and the earth's centre ; 
and, if we were to imagine the globe represented by an * 
^ZZt ^^^ shell would be comparatively much thicker than 
the thin layer which forms its crust. Far down in the 



202 Powers of the Lord, 

mysterious caverns of this crust, the molten rocks, the in- 
candescent vapors, and bursting gases, heated by the 
internal furnace, are ever battling together and struggling 
with inconceivable force to rend their prison walls. Some- 
times we hear with awe the distant thunder of the con- 
flict, and sometimes the foundations of the earth itself 
are shaken or torn asunder. Those are the regions where 
fierce chaos is mercifully held down by the weights which 
God has heaped upon it \ but, be it remembered, the 
Power is there, and is ready, if the word be spoken, to 
burst forth and in an instant submerge this fair world in 
molten fire, and change it into a ruin. In this internal 
crucible were compounded in olden time the granites, the 
porphyries, and the basalts which subsequently forced 
their way roughly through overlying strata, and consol- 
idated themselves, lava-like, into rocks and mountains. 
The convulsions of the early world must have been truly 
awful, for in every country the rocky layers bear testimony 
to the violence then sustained. Many of the strata have 
been started from the bed on which they had been gently 
and evenly deposited as a sediment, and have been cracked, 
splintered, or tilted over in all directions. Sometimes the 
fiery giant, unable to burst completely through, has lifted 
and strained the brittle strata over him until they rose 
into ridges, or, by causing partial upheavals and subsi- 
dences, has produced those dislocations or " faults " which 
are now so perplexing to the miner. Nor are the marks 
of heat less evident than those of the violence which at- 
tended it. Sometimes the soft sandstone touching the 
fiery stream has been fused into quartz, or indurated into 
a flinty hardness which shades off into the natural texture 
of the rock as it recedes from the point of contact. Occa- 
sionally the glowing stream baked the contiguous clay into 
coarse porcelain. The chalk and the limestone, instead 
of being changed into quick-lime, as would have happened 
had they been calcined in the open air, have been indu- 



Powers of the Lord, 203 

rated and sometimes fused into crystalline marble, such 
as is quarried at Carrara, from their having been heated 
under the pressure of superjacent strata. Owing to the 
same cause shales are found occasionally converted into 
hard, porcellaneous jasper, while seams of coal are coked 
or charred to a varying distance around. 

Although internal igneous action has happily been now 
restrained within moderate bounds, yet have we sure proof 
in the volcano and earthquake that subterranean fires do 
still possess much of their ancient fury. At never-distant 
intervals Vesuvius, ^tna, and Hecla heave up their molten 
lavas out of depths that lie beyond our power to explore ; 
and during the spring of this year, 1866, a volcano has 
been cast up in the harbor of Santorin. The great centres 
of volcanic action, however, are now to be found in South 
and Central America, along the line of the Andes, and in 
the nearest islands of the Pacific. In one of the Sand- 
wich Islands, for example, there is a crater nine miles in 
circumference, and 1200 feet deep, in which a broad sea of 
molten lava surges and splutters. The caldron, however, 
never boils over. Apparently the pressure occasionally 
forces an opening in its side through which the lava runs, 
as through a spout, down into the ocean, where it quickly 
consolidates and tends gradually to enlarge the area of 
the island. 

Sometimes the internal force, instead of assuming the 
fitful violence of the volcano or earthquake, operates with 
regularity, as if through the expansion or contraction of 
large masses of heated matter, by which the surface-land 
is slowly upheaved in some places and lowered in others. 
It is remarkable that in all such cases, the only trustwor- 
thy standard of measurement is the sea, which, in regard 
to permanent level, is far more stable than the land. The 
more this subject is inquired into, the more common are 
such movements proved to be ; and it is, perhaps, not too 
much to say that there are probably few regions in the 



204 Powers of the Lord, 

world which are absolutely stationary. The southern 
shores of the Firth of Forth are rising at a rate which al- 
lows a sensible difference in their shape to be noted in the 
course of a single generation. Southern Sweden and 
Norway are sinking, while their northern end is rising. 
On the shores of the Bay of Baiae the columns of the 
ruined temple of Jupiter Serapis are seen oddly planted in 
the sea. The base is covered with the water. They were 
originally built on dry ground ; then they were gradually 
lowered so as to dip into the sea ; after the volcanic turmoil 
of 1538, they were again elevated out of it. In 18 19 the 
floor was six inches above the sea-level ; in 1845 it was 
eighteen inches below it at low water. And it still contin- 
ues to subside in consequence probably of the shrinking 
of the strata beneath from loss of heat. 

The connection between volcanoes, earthquakes, and 
the upheaval or subsidence of tracts of land is most clearly 
exhibited in those countries where the evidence of the ac- 
tion of subterranean fire is displayed with greatest inten- 
sity. Along the line of the Andes, more particularly, these 
phenomena go hand in hand together. On the 20th Feb- 
ruary, 1835, an earthquake, which has been graphically 
described by Darwin, occurred at Concepcion. The city 
itself was shaken into ruins, together with 70 neighboring 
villages. One of the most singular and fearful evidences 
of the " Power " at work was the rising of a wave or 
mountain of water, 23 feet higher than spring-tides, which 
rolled in from the Pacific and broke with fury on the town, 
surging and swirling along its streets, and drowning many 
inhabitants and cattle. The adjoining country was strewn 
with the debris of what a few minutes before had been a 
noble town. A heavy gun, 4 tons in weight, was lifted 15 
feet from its position. One ship was deposited high and 
dry 200 yards from the beach. Some ships riding in 36 
feet water were for a few minutes aground ; another ship 
was knocked about like a shuttlecock, having been twice 



Powers of the Lord, 205 

lifted on to the shore and twice replaced again in deep 
water. 

The connection bet^veen this earthquake and subterra- 
nean fire was made abundantly clear from attendant cir- 
cumstances. On the same 20th February the island of 
Juan Fernandez, 360 miles northwest of Concepcion, was 
violently shaken by an earthquake, and " a volcano burst 
out under the water close to the shore." Moreover, in the 
Andes behind Chiloe, 340 miles south of Concepcion, two 
volcanoes suddenly broke at the same instant into violent 
action. Thus the subterranean struggle raged along a line 
of at least five hundred miles, at either end of which its 
violence culminated in volcanoes. Over large districts 
where the imprisoning walls of rock were not absolutely 
broken through, they were yet forced to yield to a certain 
extent before the expansive efforts of the subterranean fire, 
and were lifted up above their former level, as if upon the 
back of some mighty monster. The amount of elevation 
of the shore round the bay was three feet, and at the isl- 
and of St. Maria, 30 miles off. Captain Fitzroy subse- 
quently found beds of putrid mussel shells still adhering 
to the rocks at a height of 10 feet above high- water mark. 
"For these very shells," says* Darwin, "the inhabitants 
had been previously in the habit of diving at low-water 
spring-tides." In many places the hills in that volcanic 
country are strewn with sea-shells to a height of a thou- 
sand feet, a circumstance probably due to the upheavals 
to which the coast has at various times been subject. 

Even in our own quiet islands we are every now and 
then reminded that they by no means lie beyond the reach 
of these fearful " Powers of the Lord." On two occasions 
recently the shocks of earthquakes have been felt in Eng- 
land, and almost every year it happens that volcanic dis- 
turbance in the south of Europe causes responsive throb- 
bings among the Perthshire Hills. 

Chemical force is another " Power of the Lord " from 



2o6 Powers of the Lord, 

which this verse of the Benedicite receives some of its 
most striking illustrations. Many of the greatest workings 
of Nature are chemical processes. It is by virtue of this 
power that digestion and fermentation are accomplished, 
and that those preliminary steps are taken in the seed by 
which germination is promoted. To it we owe the tints 
of red and yellow which paint the leaves in autumn. By 
the aid of carbonic acid, abstracted from air or soil, water 
carries off into the sea the lime which, after having been 
built into shells for living animals, is ultimately to be laid 
down to form new strata. To the energy of chemical force 
we owe combustion, which, by producing " Fire and Heat," 
ministers in so many ways to our happiness. To man 
himself Providence has vouchsafed to impart a certain 
knowledge of this Power, which he wields to his infinite 
profit and advantage. But, in the vast domain of chemis- 
try, when the known is contrasted with the unknown, man 
will for long ages to come continue to resemble the little 
child wandering on the sea-shore and " picking up now 
and then a pretty pebble, while the great ocean of truth 
lies undiscovered before it." 

It has been finely observed that chemistry confers a kind 
of creative power upon man, by which he produces many 
substances which have no independent existence, and 
decrees at will unions and separations among the passive 
objects around him. There is scarcely a domestic opera- 
tion or a manufacture in which the energies of chemistry 
are not turned to account. Nearly all the metals, for ex- 
ample, are presented to us by Nature in a crude state, and 
the power through whose intrumentality they are obtained 
in purity is chemical action. Many of the most servicea- 
ble substances we employ in daily life are the products of 
the same force — set in motion and guided by our skill. 
To chemistry we are indebted for the perfection of our 
sugars, soaps, candles, leathers, dyes, medicines, paper, and 
glass ; and the list might be extended so as to include 
nearly every manufactured article in use. 



Powers of the Lord, 207 

Chemistry is the science of experimental surprises, and 
its transmutations, while they transcend imagination, afford 
evidence of the wonderful power of which they are the 
effects. Thus, the most inert substances often produce by 
combination a compound of the greatest energy. " Nitro- 
gen and hydrogen," Brande and Taylor observe, " are two 
comparatively inert gases, while carbon is an innoxious 
solid. The combination of these three elements produces 
a highly poisonous liquid — Prussic acid. Hydrogen has 
no smell, and sulphur only a slight smell on friction \ when 
combined these bodies produce a most offensively smelling 
gas — sulphide of hydrogen. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, 
and nitrogen are innoxious agents, and have no taste ; but 
when combined in certain proportions they form strychnia, 
remarkable for its intensely bitter taste, and highly poison- 
ous qualities." Sometimes the most worthless substances, 
under the magic touch of chemistry, cast off their com- 
monness and become things of value and beauty. Who, 
for example, could have anticipated that matters so dull 
and common as sand and the ash of a wood fire should 
under certain circumstances unite to form bright, trans- 
parent glass ? What feat can be conceived more wonder- 
ful than from a substance so dingy, dirty, and unpromis- 
ing as coal-tar, to create the beautiful series of aniline, 
colors which we admJre as mauve. Magenta, Solferino, and 
Bleu de Paris. To such perfection, indeed, has chemistry 
now carried this branch of manufacture that there is hardly 
any tint which many not be obtained from coal-tar by skill- 
ful treatment. Chemistry is a wonderful economist of 
Nature's means, and never shows itself to more advantage 
than when it takes in hand and turns to account the frag- 
ments that would otherwise be lost. As the highest praise 
that could be offered, it may now almost literally be said 
that chemists have of late years expunged the word " rub- 
bish " from the dictionary, as well as " waste " from the 
workshop. 



2o8 Powers of the Lord, 

The vegetable kingdom, although it consist of a great 
variety of forms, tissues, and products, is essentially built 
up out of a very few ultimate elements. Whole classes of 
products consist merely of carbon and hydrogen ; and, as 
a general rule, only three principal constituents are found 
in plants — carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen — to which a 
small quantity of nitrogen is sometimes added. Thus 
there is often a remarkable similarity, and sometimes even 
an identity of composition, between substances in common 
use which differ widely in their properties. Sugar and 
gum, for instance, consist exactly of an equal number of 
atoms of the same elements — carbon, hydrogen, and oxy- 
gen ; while starch and cellulose, the base of wood, are 
most closely allied. In the same manner whole classes of 
vegetable substances, presenting a similarity in their 
atomic composition, are, nevertheless, possessed of very 
different properties, of which oil of turpentine and oil of 
lemons may be adduced as examples. Differences in the 
properties of many vegetable substances, therefore, appear 
to depend not only on the nature of the ultimate atoms 
of which they are composed, but also on the peculiar way 
in which these atoms are arranged. The idea naturally 
suggests itself that this remarkable system of similarity in 
composition must be intended to subserve some useful 
purpose ; and, perhaps, the opinion might be hazarded that 
it is not without relation to the eventual increase of the 
world's food-supplies by chemical means. 

Seeing that many vegetable substances are identical, or 
nearly allied in composition, it scarcely appears surprising 
that chemistry should have already demonstrated the con.- 
vertibility of some into others. Thus gum and starch are 
changed into sugar by the action of sulphuric acid. Much 
sugar is now manufactured in France from potato-starch 
and sago. Sugar acted on by nitric acid is changed into 
oxalic acid ; so is sawdust when treated by potash. The 
common, woody fibre of plants, freed from impurity, is 



Powers of the Lord. 209 

convertible by sulphuric acid, first, into a substance like 
starch, and then into gum and sugar. Thus the proposi- 
tion, that in times of scarcit}^ some ligneous matter in the 
shape of fine wood-powder should be added to bread to 
eke out the supply of flour, does not appear so very extrav- 
agant ; and, indeed, in Sweden and Norway the inner 
bark of the pine is often used for the purpose. The 
stomach, in its own work of digestion, possesses ways and 
means of operation with which we are unacquainted. We 
know that the elephant in his native forests mashes up 
with its food a considerable quantity of woody fibre, and 
that it has been provided by Nature with powerful ma- 
chinery for the purpose. Few branches of chemistry are 
making more rapid strides than the one we have been 
noticing, and, in the words of Brande and Taylor, " there 
is scarcely a limit to the power of transforming one organic 
substance into another." 

Considering, then, on the one hand, the identity, or at 
least the similarity, of composition ; and, on the other, the 
proved facility of transmutation in may cases j consider- 
ing, too, that this includes the possibility of converting 
one vegetable substance that is abundant, but of compara- 
tively little use, into another which might be eaten as 
nourishment, it is evident that there is here involved a 
principle which may yet prove to be of the highest impor- 
tance to man. It seems no extravagance to believe that in 
the few facts just mentioned there are resources indicated 
which may yet be largely drawn upon before the world has 
run its course. Chemical power is merely beginning to 
be developed in this direction, it can be exerted over a 
very few substances only, and the processes hitherto dis- 
covered are often imperfect and costly ; but the time may 
come when these will be cheaper, better understood, and 
applicable to a variety of common vegetable products. 
Thus, perhaps, we may humbly yet confidently believe 
that if, from the enormous increase of the world's popula- 
14 



2IO Powers of the Lord, 

tion, the necessity for augmenting the old sources of food- 
supply should ever become urgent, God will inspire his 
children with the means of unlocking those latent stores, 
and of turning them to account \ for chemical force is 
eminently a Power of the Lord, to whose conquests no 
limit can be assigned. 

Having drawn some illustrations of the " Powers of the 
Lord " from the domain of physics and chemistry, we 
would now invite attention to some examples taken from 
that other field of Nature, in which vitality works with a 
force even more wonderful and mysterious. 

It is no part of the object of this book to enter into any 
discussion of what is termed the correlation of the great 
natural forces, or to inquire how far these are in reality 
only different manifestations of the same Power. In time 
this question, like many others that have perplexed man- 
kind, will be sifted until the truth becomes apparent ; but, 
in the mean time, we cannot help thinking that the argu- 
ment is pushed too far when the principle of life is reduced 
to nothing more than a mode of physical or chemical 
action, or a mere manifestation of motion or of heat. 
Analogies may exist which seem to level the barriers 
between them, but it seems to us that, notwithstanding all 
that has been hitherto alleged, the presumption is in favor 
of the opinion that life is something apart and essentially 
different from all other kinds of force. God has willed 
that we should, to a certain extent, fathom the depths both 
of physical and chemical force, and for reasons obviously 
connected with our welfare many of their secrets have been 
committed to our hands, so that we can wield and direct 
them. But the living principle is a power which, for the 
wisest purposes, He appears to have reserved solely to 
Himself. That is delegated to none. From Him alone 
are " the issues of life." Every effort to penetrate into the 
mysterious temple of life that we may lay bare its principle 
has utterly failed, and the greatest philosopher approaches 



Powers of the Lord, 211 

no nearer than the crowd. AVe know not where to seize 
the principle of vitaUty, or what to look for ; and we un- 
derstand nothing more of its essence now than was known 
a thousand years ago. Under these circumstances we must 
believe that God does not intend we should comprehend 
or in any way become masters of that mystery ; and, if this 
be the case, we may rest assured that, as He has meted 
out to us our faculties according to the work He intended 
tliem to accomplish, there is no likelihood of our ever be- 
ing able to penetrate a secret over which He has thrown 
an impenetrable veil. 

In reflecting on some of the grand operations of Nature 
one is surprised to find that they are often accomplished 
not only silently and invisibly, but by agents which at first 
sight seem strangely out of proportion to the magnitude of 
the task on hand. ■ Thus at the very bottom of the animal 
kingdom there are workmen busily engaged day and night 
in the service of Providence, in numbers which, like the 
stars, baffle computation. No one even dreamt of their 
existence until about 200 years ago, when Leeuwenhoek, 
a Dutch philosopher, discovered them with his newly in- 
vented microscope, and exhibited them to an astonished 
and incredulous world. Yet in these animalcules — so 
minute as to be invisible to unaided vision — is to be rec- 
ognized one of the " Powers of the Lord ! " As we take 
our first glance at the little creatures careering over the 
field of the microscope, it seems as if a new world has 
been opened out to us ; nor is the expression extravagant 
when we call to mind that this is a corner of Nature into 
which few ever turn their eyes, and that the forms of life 
seen here are altogether unlike those with which we were 
previously familiar. Our first emotion is astonishment ; 
our next, curiosity ; and we wonder what purpose in the 
economy of Nature can be served by creatures so small 
and insignificant. 

But before noticing their operations more fully, it is right 



212 Powers of the Lord. 

that we should become better acquainted with the work- 
men themselves. If we desire to find them, it is more 
difficult to say where they are not than where they are. 
They abound in sea and river, pond and puddle. Wherever 
an organized atom can swim — and the minutest drop of 
water is an ocean to thousands — there they are often to 
be found. If a few shreds of meat, or blades of grass, 
or stalks of a bouquet be placed in water in a glass, in- 
fusorial animalcules will be found to swarm in it after a 
few days. The population of this minute world varies 
much under different circumstances ; but a great observer 
in this department, Ehrenberg, tells us that, in a .single 
drop of an infusion he examined, there were probably no 
fewer than 500 millions of independent individuals ! The 
spectacle of miniature bustle disclosed in one such drop 
surpasses imagination. The atoms dart forward and 
backward and sideways with most perfect movement ; 
some shiver or shake ; others spend their time in wheeling 
round and round like dancing dervises. Many show a 
graver temperament, and stalk across the " field " in a 
style which by comparison we must call majestic. Yet it 
will be observed that there is order in all these movements. 
Though " fidgeting about " in a way that realizes the idea 
of perfect restlessness, they seldom jostle each other ; and 
they twist in and out, avoiding the rocks raised up by 
minute particles of dust with as much precision as if they 
always maintained the keenest " lookout." Occasionally 
one sees in their movements something that recalls the 
hunting of well-bred dogs in search of game. 

Infusoria assume an endless variety of shapes. One of 
the simplest among them, the slow-moving Amoeba dif- 
fluens, may be compared to an atom of transparent jelly; 
but it is so often changing its outline by its contractions 
and protrusions that, except when it is shrunk together 
into a roundish dot, it can scarcely be described as having 
one special form more than another. There is neither 



Powers of the Lord, 213 

mouth nor stomach ; but when a particle of food touches 
its sensitive surface, it is soon included or overlapped by a 
fold of its " diffluent " body, and in the hollow thus made 
the food is digested and disappears just as if it were in a 
real stomach. Or the particle is thrust by the inverted 
fold into the yielding substance of the body, like a pea into 
a lump of paste, and it is made to move slowly through 
the body by means of forcible contractions until it is finally 
absorbed as nourishment. Another animalcule, Actino- 
phrys sol, has flexible tentacles, like rootlets, streaming 
from its round body in a way which, as the name implies, 
reminds one of the rays of the sun in a picture. With 
these he 'seizes his prey and slowly thrusts it against some 
part of his surface, which, by first yielding and then closing 
over it, improvises a stomach for the occasion. After the 
nourishment is extracted the refiise is thrown out, and the 
little glutton again stretches out his arms in search of food. 
These infusorial animalcules are for the most part very 
voracious, and sometimes gorge themselves until from dis- 
tortion they can scarcely be recognized. Who can set 
bounds to Nature's fertility in expedients ? In the higher 
classes of animals we are accustomed to see certain parts 
of the body " specialized " into particular organs, whose 
functions are limited to one particular purpose ; but on the 
lower steps of the ladder we see many purposes accom- 
plished by one single means. Thus a little dot of living 
jelly moves without muscles, enjoys the light of the sun, 
and sees without eyes, .feels without nerves, digests without 
a stomach, and circulates its nutriment without the vestige 
of a vessel ! 

We can merely touch upon this fascinating branch of 
Natural History, for it would take more space than can 
here be given to describe, even in the most cursory way, 
the various groups of animalcules associated together for 
the work we are now about to describe. Many of these 
are much higher in the scale of organization than the two 



214 Powers of the Lord. 

mentioned : — thus the curiously beautiful wheel-animal- 
cules belong to the Rotifera, and other nondescript look- 
ing creatures belong to the same natural group as our 
lobsters. But, in their general habits and functions they 
resemble the infusoria, with which many of them were for- 
merly classified. 

When we consider the magnitude and utility of the work 
performed by these animated atoms, the feeling suggested 
by their insignificance is exchanged for wonder at their 
aggregate power. They form, in fact, another of those 
mighty mechanisms by which Providence insures the sa- 
lubrity both of land and water; and with this function is 
combined the equally important task of economizing the 
stock of organized matter already gained from the mineral 
kingdom, and preserving it in a state fit for animal food. 

These objects are so important in Nature's household 
that their attainment, as is usual in such cases, is insured 
by being associated with the instincts and wants of the 
creatures themselves. Their voracity was necessary to 
accomplish Nature's design. But for their labors the at- 
mosphere we breathe would become tainted with the ex- 
halations of decaying animal and vegetable matter, and 
every drop of water in which putrefaction was going on 
would cast up into the air its germ of malaria and fever. 
Without their aid the surface of our pleasant earth and 
our bright seas would be covered with impurity. Think 
of the myriads of fishes dying at every instant in the 
ocean, and the quantit)^ of putrescible matter which must 
thus be diffused through it ! Were no provision made for 
its speedy removal, it would rot, fester, and corrupt both 
air and water. But these willing workers are always at 
hand when wanted, and, by voraciously feeding on the de- 
caying atoms, preserve both air and sea in sweetness and 
salubrity. 

With this general purification is combined, as has been 
said, another scheme of providential utility. Nature is the 



Powers of the Lord. 215 

most admirable of housekeepers, and is full of thrifty con- 
trivances even in the midst of her proverbial profusion. 
It has, therefore, been so arranged that dead animal matter, 
often got from the mineral kingdom at the cost of tedious, 
time-consuming processes, shall not in every case immedi- 
ately revert back to it through decomposition, but shall 
be saved and preserved in its organic form so as to be at 
once again available as animal food. The decaying atoms 
thus saved, though but the rubbish and sweepings of the 
world, are yet so valuable that innumerable myriads of 
creatures specially adapted for the purpose have been 
stationed at the outlets of organization for the purpose of 
intercepting them ; and, though they are singly minute 
enough for the digestion of microscopic animalcules, they 
nevertheless amount to an enormous aggregate by reason 
of their almost universal diffusion. Had the decaying an- 
imal matters been left to their fate without this interven- 
tion, they would have been quickly resolved into their 
ultimate mineral constituents, and, in the form of carbonic 
acid, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, would have been 
speedily dissipated by the winds in all directions. Who 
can tell how long these gases might have been blown 
about the world before they again became fixed in vegeta- 
ble shape, or how long it might have been, even after that 
preliminary step had been accomplished, before the plants 
that fed upon them served in their turn as food for ani- 
mals ? Yet not until this cycle had been run would they 
again have been won back to the animal kingdom, and 
the loss that would have been thus sustained may be im- 
agined from the amount of decay going on around us. To- 
avoid this evil Providence has drawn as it were a cordon 
round the frontier of the animal kingdom, and has in- 
trusted the guarding of it to uncountable numbers of Na- 
ture's " invisible police," with orders to seize upon escap- 
ing particles of food, and to turn them back again by a 
short route into the active stream of life. Hence, just as 



2i6 Powers of the Lord. 

the fugitive atoms were on the point of decomposition, 
they were caught up and imprisoned for a time in the 
bodies of these animalcules, and then began the quick 
process of " consecutive nutrition." The infusory was de- 
voured by some microscopic tyrant a little bigger than 
itself, which in its turn was snapped up by a hungry larva 
or some prowling insect ; the latter afforded a tempting 
mouthful to a greedy fish or bird ; and these again, 
secured by the rod, or the gun, helped to supply some 
hungry man's dinner. 

We are accustomed, and with reason, to speak of the 
" lower or inferior " ranks of animal life ; but we must 
recollect that the expression is one of relation only, for 
every thing about all God's creatures is perfect in respect 
to the place they inhabit and the functions they perform. 
In mere beauty and finish the structure of the highest 
classes of animals is equaled and often surpassed in creat- 
ures very near the bottom of the scale. To the Great 
Creator structural loveliness and perfection cost but the 
Word ; and they are lavished without stint on all His liv- 
ing works. One cannot look at those curious, infusorial 
animalcules without being convinced that in their way 
they are perfection itself, and that what we might have 
been pleased to call higher development would only have 
impaired their efficiency for the work that was given them 
to perform. Every thing is in all-wise harmony. Their 
size and strength correspond to the minute atoms they 
have to deal with ; their numbers, to the stupendous task 
before them ; their simple organization, hardy constitu- 
tion, and wonderful tenacity of life, to a geographical 
distribution stretching, so far as we know, from pole to 
pole. Wherever moisture is found and organized matter 
can decay, there they flourish in numbers to which the 
work to be done alone assigns the limit. When we 
look round and see how good every created thing is, 
how perfectly the system works, and how even these in- 



Powers of the Lord, 217 

visible atoms of life are provided with their daily food, 
we can throw ourselves with reliance on Our Father, and 
realize the full comfort of the thought that He careth for 
us also. 

Emblems of science triumphant — telescope and micro- 
scope — twin hands of vision — with one we grasp the 
might}'' orbs that were lost to us in space, with the other 
we bring into view the incomparable atoms of life that 
were before unseen. To what more noble work can 
science be consecrated than thus to win for us glimpses of 
the mightiest and minutest of His works, and, by enlarg- 
ing the field over which we humbly follow the Creator's 
hand, to add to the intensity of that perception with which 
we adoringly recognize His Power ? 

The accidents fraught with suffering to mankind which 
now and then happen through the agency of the great 
Powers of Nature have always been a stumbling-block 
to short-sighted critics of the ways of Providence. It is 
not enough for them to know that in the dispensation of 
things here below there is no absolute good, or that the 
admixture of bad is often less essential than it seems, and 
is mainly due to blamable want of forethought. With 
dismay they read of conflagrations and earthquakes, the 
bursting of reservoirs and other accidents, and they are 
tempted secretly to question the wisdom of laws under 
which such disasters are entailed. The most cursory 
glance at the government of the world must convince 
every body that Providence legislates on the widest basis 
for the well-being of the whole, and we must ever weigh 
the ill occasionally sustained by a few through the opera- 
tion of these Powers against the necessary services ren- 
dered by them to the universal world. It must be recol- 
lected, too, that God has given faculties to man for the 
very purpose of enabling him to avert or control the dan- 
ger thus arising. Fire causes direful conflagrations, it is 
true, but how generally it is in man's power to prevent 



2i8 Powers of the Lord, 

them by proper precaution. The means are placed within 
his reach. On the other hand, when we weigh this com- 
paratively rare evil against the blessings showered upon 
man at every instant by " Fire and Heat," into what im- 
perceptible dimensions does not the accidental evil shrink ! 
The noble ship sinks under the waters and its crew per- 
ishes, or a Sheffield reservoir bursts its dam and sub- 
merges villages and plains, or laborers are crushed by a 
falling bridge or tower. Well — all this mischief results 
from the inexorable law of gravity ; but would any one 
wish that, in order to prevent these accidents, there had 
been no law of gravity in existence ? In most cases these 
calamities might have been prevented. Were gravity an 
uncertain, capricious thing, then, indeed, there would be 
cause for fear and lamentation, and it would be impossible 
to cope with the evils attendant on its action. But care 
has been taken that a Power operating thus universally 
should be subject to the most rigid laws, and that man 
should be able not only to parry many of the dangers to 
which it may lead, but that he should also be able to turn 
it to account for his own purposes. Let us reflect that, in 
order to have absolutely prevented such accidents, the law 
of gravity itself must have been suspended ; and were 
that law suspended but for an instant, the earth and the 
whole heavens would collapse into destruction. A law so 
essential to the existence of the world must be made per- 
emptory and universal — it cannot be made to hold for 
some occasions and not for others ; it is a chain of safety 
that must not be left to be slackened at discretion. If it 
extinguish life now and then, we must not forget that it 
alone makes life possible for all. In the same way the 
tempest, the lightning, and the stormy sea have their uses 
in Nature's economy, and these will be noticed in another 
place. The earthquake and the volcano appear to be 
agents employed in modifying the crust of the earth, and 
preparing it for future purposes in which we of the present 



Powers of the Lord, 219 

generation have no part. But even in regard to these ter- 
rible displays of force we must not forget that they are the 
result of that same Power of the Lord which is almost 
universally working for our advantage. And when we are 
assailed with difficulties in regard to the material govern- 
ment of the world — when we see evils prevailing for 
which we cannot even imagine any equivalent advantage 
— let us fall back with confidence on our experience of 
God's ways. Surrounded as we are on every side with 
evidence of the care bestowed by our heavenly Father on 
all His creatures, we can well afford to wait with patience 
until these and other perplexing questions are solved, in 
the full conviction that, when the fitting time comes, they 
will be found to exhibit new proofs of God's Power and 
Goodness. 

Great is our Lord, and great is His power ; yea, and His wisdom is infinite. 

Ps. cxlvii. 




MOUNTAINS AND HILLS, 



O ye Mountains and Hills ^ bless ye the Lord : praise Him, and 
magnify Him for enjer. 




F it were required to name the grandest natural 
objects upon earth, it is probable that "mountains 
and hills " would rise to the lips of not a few. 
In sublimity they take rank with the ocean and the clouds. 
They were chosen by the Psalmist to typify God's power, 
— " And the strength of the hills is His also." On the 
one hand, their height, their mass, and the deep planting 
of their roots in the earth ; and on the other, the beauty 
which rests upon their varied outlines, which clothes their 
sides and precipices, and lies among their wide valleys 
and deep glens, liiark them out not only as the most con- 
spicuous, but also as among the most attractive objects in 
the world. Nor is it without wise design that these grand 
features of the earth should twine themselves round the 
affections. The love of the Highlander for his hills is 
proverbial. Love for the spot where one was born — for 
the district where one has lived, secures for it the interest 
of friends who will look to its welfare. Memory lingers 
over the dim outline of a mountain long after other scenes 
grouped round its base have faded away; and one can 
'easily understand that the eyes which day by day rest on 
the familiar hills must ultimately open up for them a way 
to the heart. Exiles from a country abounding in famous 
mountains, it was to be expected that the Three Children, 
in their survey of Nature, should invoke them as testimo- 
nies of the Mercy and Power of the Lord. Had not their 



Mountains and Hills, 221 

beloved land been traversed with hills to bring down the 
fertilizing rain from the clouds, Judea might have been as 
arid as the neighboring desert. The dying Moses had, in 
blessing the tribes, spoken of " the precious things of the 
lasting hills." Many* of the mountains which they might 
have seen in their childhood, and with whose names we, 
too, are familiar, were treasured in their thoughts as en- 
during monuments of the power of God in delivering His 
chosen people. The hill of Bashan marked for ever the 
spot where Moses gained the victory over Og, its king. 
Mount Carmel was identified with the deeds of the Prophet 
Elijah. It was here that the "fire of the Lord fell and 
consumed the burnt-sacrifice " which the servant of God 
prepared when he would confound the priests of Baal. 
From the top of Carmel, too, the Prophet discerned the 
" little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand," which an- 
nounced the welcome rain. They might have known 
Mount Tabor, conspicuous among all the hills of Lower 
Galilee, with its plain where Sisera " with his chariots 
and his multitude " was delivered into the hands of 
Barak, and where more recently their oppressor Nebuchad- 
nezzar had striven with and vanquished the children of 
Israel ; but they knew not that it was destined in after 
ages to become still more interesting to us as the tradi- 
tional scene of the Transfiguration. From the rock in 
Horeb Moses miraculously drew forth the water to quench 
the thirst of the children of Israel. Nor from this list can 
Sinai, the most famous mountain of all, be omitted, where 
the Lord delivered the law to Moses, and revealed Himself 
to the children of Israel in the cloud upon the smoking 
mountain, and where other momentous events in the pas- 
sage through the desert took place. 

The mountain of which the Bible makes earliest men- 
tion is Ararat, and it is identified with an occurrence that 
renders it a testimony for ever of God's power and mercy. 
When the race which had provoked the wrath of Heaven 



222 Mountains and Hills. 

by its wickedness had been destroyed in the waters of the 
deluge, the ark with its favored inmates was guided to 
rest and safety upon its heights. The Lord let loose the 
powers chained up in Nature against His enemies, and yet, 
" remembering mercy," preserved a remnant by which the 
fair earth was again filled with life. Mount Ararat forms 
the loftiest peak in the long ridge of the Taurus, rising 
17,750 feet above the level of the sea, or nearly 2000 feet 
higher than the summit of Mont Blanc. It is situated in 
that corner of Asia Minor where the dominions of Russia, 
Turkey, and Persia touch, and from the circumstance that 
it is partly detached from the groups around it, the eye 
takes in nearly its whole outline from base to apex ; hence 
in isolated majesty it stands forth among the most sublime 
mountains in the world. Its crest is mantled in snow, and 
so difficult is the ascent that, although often attempted, it 
was never achieved until 1829, when the feat was accom- 
plished by Professor Parrot, of the Russian service. Since 
the days of Noah, perhaps, no other human foot had ever 
been planted on the top of that famous hill. Mount 
Ararat is an object of interest and veneration not only to 
Christians but to Mohammedans also, as well as to the in- 
habitants generally of that district of Western Asia. An 
Oriental traveler relates that when an Armenian for the 
first time beholds the well-known outline of the mountain 
after a long absence, he kisses the ground, makes the sign 
of the cross, and repeats certain prayers. 

Stupendous though mountain masses be, they form but 
trifling inequalities when compared to the diameter of the 
globe on which they rest. Between the summit of Chim- 
borazo, one of the highest of the Andes, and the deepest 
part of the Atlantic yet sounded lying to the south of 
Newfoundland, there is an estimated difference of level 
amounting to about nine miles. This may be considered 
as representing with near approximation the difference be- 
tween the highest and the lowest spots upon the globe. 



Mountains and Hills, 223 

The loftiest peaks of the Himalayas hardly exceed an 
elevation of five miles above the sea, which is a height so 
inconsiderable in relation to the diameter of the globe 
that it is a great exaggeration to compare it, as is often 
done, to the rugosities on the surface of an orange. Pro- 
portionate inequalities on an orange would be invisible to 
the naked eye. According to other estimates the highest 
table-lands of the world might be fairly represented by the 
thinnest sheet of writing-paper, and the highest mountain 
by the smallest visible particle of sand laid upon a 16- 
inch globe. 

Mountains play an important part in the economy of 
Nature, and they are the agents by which the Creator be- 
stows many blessings upon his children. They act as 
loadstones to the clouds, and draw down from them the 
fertilizing rain. Often it is a mountain-range which de- 
termines whether a country is to be a garden or a desert, 
and points out the place where rain-bringing winds are to 
yield up their treasures. While considering the " waters 
above the firmament " it has been shown how the barren- 
ness of the deserts of Thibet and Mongolia has been 
produced by the rain-intercepting ridge of the Himalayas, 
and how the southwest monsoon, which covers the wide 
plains of Hindostan with fertility, is the result of their 
combined action. As Maury has observed, the desert and 
the mountain are " counterpoises or compensations to 
make the machine perfect," and they are placed in certain 
selected situations over the earth for the general good, to 
regulate up to a certain point the course of the winds, and 
determine where the rains shall most abundantly fall. In 
relation to this important function, no less than to other 
cosmical considerations, it may be said, with literal truth, 
that " He has comprehended the dust of the earth in a 
measure, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the 
hills in a balance." Had the " dust " of the deserts of 
Central Asia been measured out either with greater or 



2 24 Mountains and Hills. 

with less abundance than actually is the case, or had the 
Himalayan mountains been weighed in masses greatly 
differing from those they now present, the whole monsoon- 
machinery would have been thrown off the balance on 
which it has been so perfectly adjusted, and the wide plains 
of India would have been changed into a sterile desert. 

Mountains " drink the waters of the rain of Heaven." 
They are the great water-sheds of the earth. On their 
tops the river-systems of the world are born, and the tiny 
rills thence first started on their way soon coalesce into 
streams, and then into rivers, to be poured back eventually 
into the sea whence they came. It is obvious that, if the 
earth had been a dead level, and if there had been no 
slopes and hollows to collect the moisture together, water 
would have lodged in stagnant pools over its surface, 
spoilt its fertility, and covered it with unhealthy swamps. 
As a general rule, to which for wise reasons there are 
some remarkable exceptions, mountains form the back- 
bone or central ridge of continents ; and Nature, by de- 
creeing that the chief rains shall fall among them, has 
secured the greatest amount of fertilizing service which it 
is possible for them to render. As it flows downward to 
the sea, the rain-water, collected into streams, dispenses 
fertility on all sides. Had it been otherwise arranged, and 
had the chief rainfall occurred near the coasts, the course 
of the rivers produced by it would have been necessarily 
short, and the amount of good done by them would have 
been comparatively small. 

Let us for a moment trace the influence which the posi- 
tion of mountains exercises on the climates of certain dis- 
tricts. The extraordinary fertility of the soil and the rich- 
ness of vegetation found throughout the vast basin of the 
Amazon and in some regions to the south are produced 
by the absence of high mountain ridges running parallel 
with the eastern shore of equatorial America. The Trade- 
wind reaches the shores of Brazil saturated with moisture 



Mountains and Hills, 225 

gathered up while sweeping across the Atlantic. If it now 
encountered lofty mountains, the rain would be drawn from 
it in quantities which, while they deluged the districts near 
the shore and made them comparatively useless, would 
have left little moisture behind to fertilize the vast interior. 
The Valley of the Amazon might then have been changed 
into a desert, instead of being adorned, as it now is, with 
the most glorious vegetation in the world. Let us consider 
what has actually happened on the opposite side of South 
America, where the conditions just mentioned are reversed. 
One of the most rain-charged winds in existence blows 
from the Pacific Ocean against the coast of Patagonia. But 
no sooner does it reach the shore than it encounters the 
lofty Andes ; torrents of water are immediately drained 
off from the clouds, and one of the wettest climates of the 
earth is the result. The vegetation, however, is of a rank 
and not very useful kind, owing to the superabundance 
of moisture and the want of sun ; and the whole country 
is covered with gloomy, impenetrable forests of pine. But 
mark what happens to the districts lying beyond. The 
interior of Patagonia is a vast desert ; for the moisture, 
which othei'wise would have fertilized it, has been already 
condensed out of the wind by the cold tops of the Andes. 
And the same fate would unquestionably have overtaken 
Brazil and La Plata had the Andes been placed upon the 
eastern instead of on the western side of the continent. 

Many mountain ranges in warm or tropical countries, 
like prudent foster-mothers, hold near their summits vast 
reservoirs of water frozen into ice and snow, in order that 
they may pour down from their sides the needful supply 
of moisture when the plains below are parched by the 
summer's sun. Thus the glaciers of the Himalayas feed 
the Ganges, the Indus, and the Burhampootra ; and the 
higher Andes roll down cool streams into the rainless dis- 
tricts bordering the Pacific. The Rhine and the Rhone, 
with many of their early affluents, issue from glaciers in 
15 



2 26 Mountains and Hills. 

Switzerland, and they would dwindle into small propor- 
tions in the summer time were it not for the supplies given 
to them by these compensating reservoirs of ice. In winter, 
indeed, these alpine sources are partially locked up by the 
frost ; and hence it is remarked that these rivers never 
have their channels better filled than during the hot sum- 
mer months when the melting of the glaciers is most 
rapid. 

In ascending lofty tropical mountains successive belts 
of vegetation are traversed, which represent in miniature 
the different climates of the earth as we pass from the 
Equator toward the poles. At the base of the Peruvian 
Andes, for example, the traveler finds himself in the glow- 
ing temperature of the tropics. For the first 5000 feet of 
ascent his way lies among pine-apples, cocoas, bananas, 
and other kinds of palms, with bright and fantastic-looking 
orchids clustering on the trees, and marking the equatorial 
character of the belt. While plodding his way up the next 
5000 feet of ascent the traveler sees much to remind him 
of the vegetation of temperate climates : the vine flour- 
ishes, while crops of maize and wheat luxuriantly clothe 
the ground, as in Southern Europe. In passing through 
the next 5000 feet the temperature gradually chills into 
severe cold. At first vegetation wears the aspect of the 
higher " temperate " climates. The wheat has disappeared, 
and figuratively the traveler may be said to be as far north 
as John o'Groat's ; but the potato still thrives, while barley 
and rye assimilate the climate to that of parts of Norway. 
The stately trees of the lower belts have disappeared, and 
the forests are thin and degenerate, until at length a 
scrubby pine or birch is their sole representative. Here, 
at an altitude equal to the summit of Mont Blanc, the first 
wreaths of perpetual snow and the last efforts of expiring 
vegetation come into contact. Plantal life as usual dies 
out with the moss and the lichen. 

Mountain ranges and lofty plateaux form a natural san- 



Mountains and Hills. 227 

atorium frequently established by Providence in the midst 
of hot, unhealthy tropical countries. The worn-out invalid 
finds on these cool heights a climate which soon restores 
him to health, and enables him again to encounter the less 
favorable influences of the plains. Recent improvements 
in traveling have enhanced the value of this blessing by 
enabling many to take advantage of the change who for- 
merly could not profit by it. The Madrasian retires to 
recruit his exhausted vigor among the bracing Neilgherries ; 
the citizen of Calcutta travels to the " upper country " to 
seek health among the slopes of the Himalayas ; the Cin- 
galese leaves the sultry coast to profit by the more bracing 
air of the coffee districts near Adam's Peak ; the Mexican 
leaves the Caliente for the Templada or the Fria ; and the 
Peruvian or Chilian of the coast finds cool air, verdure, and 
health on the. lofty sides of the Andes. On the whole, 
there are few tropical districts so unfortunately placed as 
to be beyond moderately easy access to some mountain 
sanatorium. 

Mountains exhibit wonderful proofs of the force dis- 
played in the arrangement of the surface of the earth. 
Geology tells us that many of them — like the lofty peaks 
of the Andes, or Ailsa Craig, or Tenerifie — have been 
cast forth as liquid lava from the interior of the earth by 
the force of fire. Others, again, though deposited originally 
at the bottom of the sea, have been lifted as it were on the 
back of other rocks, so as now to form lofty ridges. There 
are limestone strata of marine origin, labelled with shells 
identical with others found in low-lying beds near Paris, 
which are now placed at a height of 10,000 feet above the 
ocean, crowTiing the summit of the Diablerets among the 
Swiss Alps. Examples of similar elevations are met with 
among the Himalayas, in Tahiti, and elsewhere. 

Viewed under another aspect, mountains show forth the 
power of the Creator in a way still more marvelous. Many 
mountain masses and level strata consist chiefly of the 



2 28 Mountains and Hills. 

remains of animals that formerly existed on the globe. 
The beautiful marbles of Derbyshire, for instance, owe 
their variegated markings to the shells which successive 
generations of creatures built up and left behind. One 
feels astounded at the profusion of ancient life revealed by 
those "medals of creation." Nearly the whole city of 
Paris has been reared out of the consolidated remains 
of microscopic Miliolae quarried from the neighboring ter- 
tiary beds ; and calculations show that every cubic inch of 
this stone contains not fewer than 2000 millions of indi- 
viduals. The most famous of the pyramids are formed out 
of the remains of microscopic nummulites, cemented into 
a building-stone which is found abundantly in Egypt and 
in many other places. One of the most remarkable exam- 
ples of the former profusion of life is to be found in the 
polishing slate of Bilin, in Bohemia, which is estimated to 
contain the remains of 41,000 millions of infusory animals 
in every cubic inch. 

Look at those distant hills ! We recognize the English 
Downs by their soft, wavy outline, by the marvelous bright- 
ness of their green, by their springy turf, by the white sheep 
specks that dot their gently sloping sides, and by the 
bracing air which sweeps over them with the crisp fresh- 
ness of the sea. They undulate in a broad belt through 
England, from the shore of Dorset to the cliffs of Flam- 
borough and Dover. In the north of Ireland the chalk 
has been broken through and almost fused by the volcanic 
fires which once formed the Giant's Causeway. It extends 
across the Continent of Europe in several directions nearly 
from end to end, and in other quarters of the world it is 
largely developed. The vast mass is heaped upon thou- 
sands of square miles of the earth's crust. Yet it is but 
the sepulchre of myriads of creatures that formerly existed, 
and the visible evidence of the profusion of life that issued 
in ancient times from the Creator's hand. Scattered 
throughout are the bones of reptiles and fishes, with corals, 



Mountains and Hills, 229 

sea-urchins, sponges, and other marine remains. While 
surveying these relics we realize and seem to become 
familiar with the curious forms of life which then existed. 
But the tomb of chalk in which they lie is itself composed 
partly of crushed, compressed, or metamorphosed shells, 
partly of myriads of microscopic animalcules, whose struct- 
ure and markings are often as beautiful and perfect as if 
they had only died yesterday. Who can conceive the 
abundance of the life which thus built up those hills ? Yet 
every thing tends to show that there is not an atom of 
chalk in the world which did not once form part of a living 
animal ! 

I will remember the works of the Lord ; and call to mind thy wonders of 
old time. — Ps. Ixxvii. 




THE EARTH. 




O let the Earth bless the Lord: yea^ let it praise Him^ and mag- 
nify Kim for e'ver. 

N those summer strolls amid rural scenes which 
now and then cast sunshine on the way of even 
the busiest among us, who has not rested on some 
river's bank or green hill-side, and in his heart humbly 
thanked God, both for having clothed the earth with 
beauty, and for having bestowed upon himself the faculty 
to appreciate and enjoy it ? Which of us can estimate the 
sum of purest pleasure that would have been lost to man 
had he been created as unconscious of this beauty as the 
beasts that perish ? But by the love of our Father — who 
careth for our pleasure as well as for our wants — a power 
to perceive the charms of Nature has been implanted uni- 
versally within us, and none are shut out from its enjoy- 
ment. 'The savage and the civilized, the old and the 
young, the rich and the poor — all are capable of feeling 
its softening influence. This admiration awakens a taste 
which grows and strengthens by what it feeds on ; for he 
who has once truly experienced the charm of Nature's 
scenery will ever afterward be on the watch to discover 
and enjoy it. In the midst of scenes like these let the 
thought now and then rise in the mind that in making 
Nature so attractive it was intended, not merely to please 
the eye, but to draw man on to the consideration of the 
work itself, and to move him by the aspect of its beauteous 
perfection to magnify the Great Artificer. 

But while there are many whose delight it is to feast 



The Earth, 231 

upon such treats, spread out before them for enjoyment by 
the Father, there are some who pass on without caring to 
taste. The very commonness of the privilege dulls their 
perception, and they either see it not at all, or look on 
with apathy. There are others who ardently profess their 
love of Nature, but the feeling, though sometimes even 
extravagantly expressed, is nevertheless capricious and 
uncertain. They are ready to admire on great occasions ; 
but they have little relish for Nature in its ordinary dress, 
and exact the stimulus of " fine scenery " before they will 
condescend to enjoy. Alas! what loss is theirs — and 
how thriftless they are in thus throwing away a pure and 
oft-recurring pleasure in a world where pleasures without 
alloy are all too few ! It is, indeed, only reasonable thai 
we should be most keenly impressed by the more rare dis- 
plays of Nature's highest beauties ; but surely that need 
not render us insensible to such charms as may with cer- 
tainty be found in almost every landscape. In our daily 
intercourse with Nature out-of-doors it is wisdom not to 
encourage too fastidious a taste. A few earnest, sympathiz- 
ing glances, however homely may be the scene on which 
they dwell, will rarely fail to gather up some grains of 
gratification, and Nature will surely smile back on us if 
we will but look with interest upon her. A little en- 
couragement given to this appreciative disposition will 
return a rich reward, for it will bring within life's circle a 
thousand moments of enjoyment which would otherwise 
be wholly lost. 

In other parts of this book some remarks will be found 
on the cosmlcal relations of our planet. Various illustra- 
tions of God's Goodness and Wisdom, as exhibited in the 
productions of the earth and in its physical geography, 
are likewise given elsewhere. In this place I shall en- 
deavor to point out by some further illustrations how mar- 
velously man has been able, by the favor of Providence, 
to convert many of the raw materials of the earth into 



232 The Earth. 

great blessings. I shall also venture to make a few ob- 
servations in regard to the principle on which the treasures 
of the earth are to be dedicated to His service, and on the 
mode in which they may be made to contribute to His 
glory. 

The Earth is tne Lord's, and All that therein is. — Ps. xxiv. 

The earth is, indeed, beautiful ; but this is only the out- 
side adornment lavished on a priceless casket. Earth is a 
fruitful mother, filled with the treasures of God's love to 
man ! ' Its vaults are packed full of stone for building and 
marble for decoration — with metals of every kind for use 
and ornament — with coals for warming us ^nd multiply- 
ing ten million-fold the strength of our arms — with foun- 
tains of oil for our lamps, and with countless other gifts 
that minister to our happiness. Who could succeed in 
exhausting the catalogue of the things with which the 
earth trumpets forth His praise and glory ? For all our 
material wants this is the storehouse in which are laid up 
the gifts that will content them. Yet in the midst of riches 
that are inconceivable there is nothing that is superfluous, 
or which does not fulfill its appointed task in Nature's 
economy. With short-sighted rashness we sometimes call 
certain things worthless, and others precious ; but in the 
system of Providence none are worthless and all are pre- 
cious. 

Within the wide range of scientific art there is perhaps 
no change more surprising than that by which sand is con- 
verted into glass, and there are few that are fraught with 
more advantage to man. Consider the albundance of 
sand, and how it covers the earth almost to redundancy. 
That this coarse, opaque substance should cast off its 
common nature so completely as to become bright crystal 
is a marvel which none could have anticipated, and which 
seems comparable only to the metamorphosis of the dull 
pupa into the beautiful imago of insect life. Intractable 



The Earth. 233 

though sand may be when heated m the. furnace by itself, 
the admixture of an alkaUne substance with it in the 
crucible tames its obdurate nature, conquers its opacity, 
and fuses it into the precious, transparent glass which we 
apply to so many useful purposes. 

Glass-making was one of the earliest of the arts. Its 
manufacture, as practiced 3500 years ago, is painted on 
the walls of the Egyptian tombs of Beni Hassen, and the 
mummy-chambers of that and subsequent periods have 
yielded up numerous articles in glass, of which an interest- 
ing collection may be seen in the British Museum. Not 
the least remarkable were the artificial gems which were 
turned out with a success rivaling the best modern pro- 
ductions of Paris. Fairholt tells us that " the green eme- 
rald, the purple amethyst, and other expensive gems, were 
successfully imitated, and a necklace of false stones could 
be purchased of a Theban jeweler with as much facility as 
at a London shop of the present day." During the early 
period of its history, indeed, glass-making was even more 
of an ornamental than a useful art, and it is curious to 
note how long it was before some of the most valuable 
applications of glass to the wants of man were discovered. 
A few of the windows in Pompeii appear to have been 
glazed. Some houses in England had windows containing 
foreign glass in the reign of Henry 11. ; but there was no 
manufactory of it in this country until the year 1557. 
Windows, before that time, were either open to the weather, 
or were closed with paper or linen made translucent by 
being soaked in oil. In some countries a natural but very 
inferior substitute for glass had been provided in the shape 
of thin scales of mica. 

It has been remarked that, to a superficial observer, 
nothing appears to be of less value than sand, except it be 
its twin sister clay. But we have seen how God has in- 
spired man with the power to turn sand into glass ; and 
with equal goodness He has taught him how to convert 



234 '^^^^ Earth, 

clay into useful pottery. Let any one try to realize how 
much comfort and convenience would have been lost had 
our Father not impressed those substances with their val- 
uable, secret qualities ; or had He not with corresponding 
design, led man on to the knowledge of how to profit by 
them. 

The making of pottery was one of the earliest arts prac- 
ticed in the world. In its rudest state it seems an easy 
invention. On the one hand, the common wants of man 
urgently suggest it ; on the other, the plastic clay im- 
pressed by his foot and baked in the sun obviously points 
toward it. It was impossible for man long to shut his 
eyes to such plain hints from Nature ; hence pots and cups 
of rudest earthenware form the only record of many peo- 
ples who lived before history began, and few savages are 
found by travelers and voyagers at the present day who 
are destitute of vessels of some sort fashioned out of clay. 
The ancient Egyptians were clever potters. The wheel 
employed in the time of Moses and Pharaoh does not dif- 
fer greatly from the one now in use, while it constitutes the 
earliest " machine " of which we have any record. As is 
well known, the Chinese were the first to make that finer 
kind of pottery to which the term porcelain is now re- 
stricted, and the art with them seems to have reached its 
highest perfection about the year looo a. d. With the 
"renaissance" in the 15th century, the coarse pottery of 
Europe began to be improved. In Italy it was raised into 
Majolica, Faienza, Raffaelle, and Robbia ware ; in Hol- 
land improvement took the less beautiful and often quaint 
form of Delft ware ; in England the well-known Queen 
Elizabeth ware was thought wonderfully fine, and, though 
extremely coarse according to modern standards, was at 
least an improvement upon the black-jack and drinking- 
horn which it superseded. All such works, however, owed 
their value, not to their quality as porcelain, but to the 
paintings enameled on them by Rafiaelle or his pupils; 



The Earth. 2.35 

to the skill with which the clay had been modeled by Luca 
della Robbia and Bernard de Palissy ; or to the quaint and 
fantastic forms given to them by the artists of Holland. 
And there is no saying how long a fine paste might have 
beeA wanting to enable Europe to produce porcelain rival- 
ing that of China, had it not been for the occurrence of 
a lucky accident. About a century and a half ago it hap- 
pened that Dr. Bottcher, of Magdeburg, devoted himself 
to the discovery of the philosopher's stone, and he was 
probably the last in the long list of alchemists. Dissatis- 
fied with the crucibles then in use, he set about manufac- 
turing his own ; and, from the experiments he was led to 
make, he acquired a practical knowledge of the pottery 
produced from common clays. At this critical moment it 
happened that the Doctor one morning found his well-pow- 
dered wig unusually heavy, and on inquiry he learnt that 
his servant had ventured to introduce to his notice, without 
asking, a new kind of hair-powder which had just come 
into fashion, and of which the material, instead of being 
expensive wheat flour, was only a common white clay that 
had been well dried and finely pounded. Bottcher's cru- 
cible experiments instantly suggested to him that this clay 
would make an admirable white " paste " for pottery, and 
a few trials satisfied him of the value of the discovery. 
By means of this fine, white clay he in fact converted com- 
mon earthenware into porcelain. Favored by the patron- 
age of the Duke of Saxony, he was attached to the man- 
ufactory at Meisen, from which specimens of porcelain 
immediately began to be issued which astonished the world 
of art. From this Saxon root the most famous china- 
works in Europe gradually sprung up. For a long time 
the art was kept a profound secret, and the artists were as 
rigidly secluded in their manufactory as ever nuns were in 
a convent. They were prizes competed for by the different 
continental Courts ; and, under the temptation of high 
bribes, some of them from time to time escaped from 



236 The Earth, 

prison, carrying their secret with them. Most of the early 
porcelain manufactories owed their origin to these run- 
aways. The most remarkable exception was that at Ber- 
lin, which was established by Frederick the Great by 
means of workmen whom he seized as prisoners after the 
successes of the Seven Years' War. Thus, as Fairholt 
observes, the last of the alchemists, though he did not 
succeed in finding the philosopher's stone for converting 
common matters into gold, made a discovery hardly less 
valuable, by which a substance as ordinary as clay might 
be changed into porcelain, the finest specimens of which 
are so precious as to be worth more than their weight in 
gold. 

Clay consists essentially of silica, or sand, in union with 
the oxide of a bright metal which has assumed a homely 
working dress for the purpose of fitting it to take a most 
useful part in the composition of the soil. To the clay 
thus mixed up in it the ground is indebted for some of its 
best qualities as a producer of food. But when treated 
skillfully by the chemist, clay casts off this unattractive 
dress, and appears as the metal aluminium. For thousands 
of years clay had been handled and worked without its 
true nature having been suspected ; nor was it until the 
discoveries of Sir Humphrey Davy had proved potash, 
soda, and magnesia to be metallic oxides, that a similar 
nature began to be theoretically imputed to clay. Great 
was the sensation in the chemical world when, in 1827, 
Wohler announced the discovery of the long-looked-for 
metal in a pure state, although, from the difficulty of the 
process of extraction, it was for some years to be seen only 
in museums or at scientific conversazioni. But its useful 
qualities were, nevertheless, speedily recognized, and it at 
once took high rank among the metals. Aluminium pos- 
sesses the qualify of lightness which is so rare among 
metals, and it is hard and white like silver, though much, 
less brilliant. It can be beaten readily into plates or rolled 



The Earth, 237 

out into wire, and it is not tarnished by air or water under 
ordinary temperatures. The great, but assuredly only tem- 
porary drawback to the value of this new gift has been the 
cost of producing it ; but even already the intelligent in- 
dustry of man has to a considerable extent triumphed over 
that difficulty. In the Aluminium Works at Newcastle 
many tons of this metal are annually extracted by a proc- 
ess which admits of its being sold at a comparatively 
cheap price, and for many purposes it is fast coming into 
general use. In the Industrial Exhibition of 1862 there 
was a beautiful display of work, both useful and orna- 
mental, in aluminium ; and there is now scarcely a bazaar 
which does not offer bracelets, buckles, and other light 
productions manufactured out of this widely diffused metal. 

To the oxide of this metal — alumina — obtained by an 
easy process from common alum, we are indebted for the 
permanence of some of the brightest tints used in calico- 
printing. It is found that many colors have little affinity 
for the cotton fibre, so that while they readily stain it, the 
stain is evanescent and disappears in washing. Luckily 
for the dyer, alumina has a strong affinity at once for the 
cotton fibre and the color, and holds them both firmly 
united in its grasp. In this way the color is fixed perma- 
nently, or becomes, as it is termed, " fast." 

It is obviously impossible to find room here for a de- 
scription of the many ways in which metals contribute to 
our happiness or comfort. It may be observed generally 
that there is even more marked variety in the properties 
of metals than in those of wood; nor can any one fail to 
perceive that this is not the result of accident, but is due 
to the forethought with which Our Father has provided for 
the wants of His children, by increasing the range of the 
purposes to which metals are applicable. Thus when 
strength is desired we have the giant, iron, at our beck and 
call. An obdurate, unwieldy servant in his rougher shapes, 
we tame him through fire, and make his dull force yield to 



238 The Earth. 

our skillful weakness. Powerful in our knowledge, we sum- 
mon this metal to sustain our houses and bridge our rivers, 
and we bend and roll and twist and fashion it as we please 
for a thousand useful purposes. Do we want a medium to 
help on commerce by making clumsy barter unnecessary ? 
there is gold. Is heaviness required 1 it is to be found in 
platinum ; or lightness ? there is aluminium ; or softness ? 
there is lead ; or brittleness ? there is antimony ; or flu- 
idity ? there is mercury ; while for a combination of many 
qualities useful in domestic life, there are copper and tin. 
By the design of Providence one metal appears to have 
been created to supplement the deficiencies of another. 
Thus iron, strong though it be, yields to the combined at- 
tacks of air and moisture. But by sheathing it in a film 
of zinc or tin — metals which, though comparatively weak, 
are yet less sensitive to air and moisture — iron gains the 
priceless quality of endurance. By the skillful union of 
other metals the chemist knows how they may be adapted 
to almost every purpose. Thus the value of the metals as 
a gift to man can only be compared to that of wood and 
stone, to which it is supplementary. In bestowing these 
three blessings, what a provision has been made by Our 
Father for our comfort ! 

Let us pass to another compartment of the storehouse, 
and consider the beneficence and the knowledge of our 
wants with which the rocks of the earth have been 
treasured up. Fire and water, under the formative guid- 
ance of the Lord of Nature, have contributed their mighti- 
est forces in preparing them for our service, and have split 
and blocked and layered them into shapes convenient for 
our use. Sometimes they are cemented into huge masses 
out of which colossal breakwaters and docks may be con- 
structed. Some rocks cleave readily into slices for our 
pavements ; others split into fine plates for our slates. 
Some are so soft that they may be cut with a saw, and yet 
harden firmly when exposed to the air ; others are so hard 



The Earth, 239 

that iron will scarcely scratch them, while they surpass 
that metal in endurance. The rocks yield lime, so useful 
as manure ; and salt, which is a necessary of life. Vast 
strata of coal lie cellared in the earth. These blessings 
are so common, and are so intertwined in the daily expe- 
rience of us all, that it appears almost to be trifling to re- 
capitulate them. But should a gift be less formally ac- 
knowledged because it is given abundantly ? Instead of 
withholding these blessings altogether, or bestowing them 
niggardly. He has diffused them everywhere ; but, strange 
to say, it is this very lavishness which often dulls percep- 
tion, and creates the danger of our passing by without a 
thought of gratitude. All occasionally make general ad- 
missions of their obligations ; but how few ever stop before 
a quarry or a coal-mine to quicken their gratitude by 
thanking God specially for His good gift ! Yet what 
abundant evidence is afforded by every quarry of God's 
providence toward us. Is it a small thing to be able to 
think and to know that long before we came into existence 
Our Father was already caring for us and for our wants, 
and was already " preparing the dry land," by storing it 
with good gifts to add to our happiness ? 

Let us for a moment pause to survey the famous quarry 
of Craigleith, and try to estimate the shelter, the comfort, 
and the happiness that have been dug out of that vast 
chasm. Stand on its brink, and it will make you giddy to 
look down into the fearful gulf Far away in its lowest 
depths you descry busy workmen dwarfed by distance into 
pygmies. The birds, whom your approach has disturbed, 
hurriedly cast off, and seem by their long fluttering as if 
they never could reach the opposite shore of the abyss. 
Descend to the bottom by the climbing zigzag, which calls 
to mind some engineering triumph in the Alps ; stand in 
the centre — look round — and then try to realize in im- 
agination the vastness of the void that was once filled up 
brimful to the top with solid stone. Frowning precipices 



240 The Earth. 

rise sheer from the bottom for several hundred feet. 
Perched high up on a projecting crag, in a spot which 
many a feudal castle might envy, the giant steam noisily 
stretches out his strong arms to help on the labors of the 
place. One stands amazed to think what could have con- 
sumed and swallowed up so much hard rock. Never did 
earth more opportunely bring forth her hidden treasures. 
An ancient capital hard by had outgrown itself Cooped 
up by Nature within the limits of a narrow ridge, its 
streets, with a single, grand exception on its crest, had 
been squeezed together into wynds and closes, partly from 
scantiness of space and partly for the sake of aiding de- 
fense in troublous times. Dunedin was like a pent-up 
river whose waters were watching for a chance to spring 
beyond their old confinements. Suddenly the citizens 
broke through the spell of custom and tradition. The 
old gate was passed, the swampy North Loch was bridged 
over, the green fields on the other side were reached ; and 
then arose a city — the like of which had never been seen 
before. Nearly every stone that left this vast void was 
built into that new town of Edinburgh, whose glory, next 
to its matchless site, is the beautiful rock of Craigleith 
quarry. 

From the observations just made it appears that the 
crust of the earth may be regarded as little else than a 
storehouse filled with good gifts from Our Father for the 
purpose of ministering to our happiness ; and surely the 
consideration of this truth ought to suggest to us the pro- 
priety, or rather the duty, of turning them if possible to 
account in His service, and of making them, as far as 
may be, the visible expressions of our thankfulness. Let 
us first endeavor, as carefully as we can, to clear the 
ground for the observations about to be made. God is a 
Spirit, and we know that the works of our hands, how per- 
fect soever they may be, can have intrinsically no value in 
His eyes. But we are, at the same time, distinctly assured 



The Earth, 241 

that it is possible to do every thing to His glory, and we 
are enjoined so to do it. " Whatsoever ye do, do all to 
the glory of God." Nothing is excepted — no act is 
either so great or so small as to be beyond the circle of 
this command. By it we learn that it is the motive which 
sanctifies. Unless the motive be God's glory, the finest 
work sinks into worthlessness ; but, hallowed by that mo- 
tive, the smallest offering is graciously accepted. 

One way by which we endeavor to promote God's glory 
is the building of churches, and in this act especially we 
seem to be turning the materials of the earth to account, 
and to be dedicating them to His service. In what mind, 
then, ought we to undertake this duty ? Is it consistent 
with the feeling of gratitude and propriety, or even of de- 
cency, that His temple should be raised barely and meanly 
when we have it in our power to do more ? The widow's 
mite was highly valued because it was the utmost she could 
give ; but if she had possessed more it would not have 
been so considered. Ought we not then to follow out this 
principle as far as we can, and to give our best ? Can 
it be right that, while we deem no architectural beauty too 
good for our own dwellings, we should be satisfied with 
His House being only a little better than a barrack — 
when it is in our power to do more ? AVhile we adorn our 
palaces with every thing which good taste can obtain from 
the sculptor or the painter, can it be right to consider the 
carpenter and the plasterer good enough artists for the 
church — if we have it in our power to do more ? Or 
while we fill our concert rooms with finest music, shall we 
celebrate His praise in the sanctuary in hymns that are 
often discordant to healthy ears — when we have it in our 
power to do more t 

We would rather be among those whose rule it is to do 
their best for God's glory, than with others who are con- 
tent to consider what is inferior or easy to be had as good 
enough for the adornment of His House. Scarcely do 
16 



242 The Earth, 

they seem to understand or appreciate their high privilege 
when they withhold what ought gladly and lovingly to be 
laid upon the altar. These services are in themselves true 
offerings, yet not less are they due on the lower, yet still 
high, ground of consistency and fitness, for they seem to be 
only the natural outward expression of our gratitude. Surely 
it will not be denied that the feeling is good, or that the 
principle of offering the best in our power wherever the 
service of God is in question, must be right and safe. 
Though paradoxical, it is nevertheless true that giving lib- 
erally for such purposes does not practically diminish the 
sources from which the means are drawn. There probably 
never was a case yet where one church remained unbuilt, 
because another had been suitably adorned ; but, on the 
other hand, we think it may be safely asserted that the 
aspect of a church whose fitting adornments inspired de- 
votional feeling has often acted as a stimulus to help on 
similar works. We may rest assured that, when our all 
has been done, we have equally fallen short of His glory 
and our own obligations. 

Let us for a moment consider how our pious forefathers 
acted in this matter. They invariably built churches to 
the best of their knowledge of art, and adorned them to 
the best of the means that lay within their reach. The 
works that have come down to us from mediaeval times 
attest how carefully they were originally built and set apart 
for God's service. The most skillful master-masons were 
employed, the most beautiful stone that could be procured 
was brought even from distant sources. The Norman 
Bishop Walkelyn built his new Cathedral at Winchester 
with materials brought from quarries in the Isle of Wight, 
and the beautiful white stone of Caen was in request for 
the decoration of God's House from a very early period. 
Our forefathers, however, were limited in their materials 
for decoration, and hence their architectural adornments 
chiefly took the form of Column, arch, and tracery. "When 



The Earth, 243 

we consider the ecclesiastical works — the cathedrals and 
churches — erected in the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, 
in relation to the resources from which they were produced, 
we are equally impressed with the earnest purpose of our 
forefathers, and humbled at our own supineness. Happily 
in these latest days church architecture has revived, and 
all denominations of Christians now vie with each other in 
taking advantage of its taste and resources. 

The internal adornment of churches has also much im- 
proved of late, although there is some difference of opinion 
as to the extent to which it ought to be carried. In a diffi- 
culty of this nature it is surely safe to apply the principle 
that we are to " do the best that lies in our power ; " nor 
need we fear that we shall do too much, so long as orna- 
mentation is governed by good taste, suitableness, and de- 
votional feeling. To what more elevating use can man 
apply the woods and the metals, the stone and the mar- 
bles, with which this earth has been blessed for his sake, 
than in dedicating them to the service of his Maker? or 
how can man better employ sculpture and painting — the 
direct offspring of those talents which are the special gift 
of God — than by devoting them to His honor ? It surely 
cannot be otherwise than right and consistent, when we 
are enjoined to " do all to the glory of God," that the best 
fruits of the talents with which God has endowed man 
should be humbly dedicated to the glory of Him who 
created them. Can we believe that Fra Bartolomeo was 
wrong when he studied painting in order that he might 
devote his art to the illustration of his Master's life ; or 
that Michael Angelo was wrong when he dedicated the 
best years of his life to labor at St. Peter's as architect, 
sculptor, and painter, for the " love of God " ? 

Marbles were little known in this country in the olden 
time, but our forefathers were glad to make use of them 
when they fell within reach, as in Sussex and elsewhere j 
and there can be no doubt that they would have turned 



244 '^^^ Earth, 

them still more extensively to account had it been within 
their power. Marbles are the flowers of the rocks, traced 
out and colored by God's own hand ; and they serve to 
remind us that He has not stopped short in His benefi- 
cence at the point where our bare wants were supplied, but 
has been pleased to add the charm of beauty, over and 
above, in order to gratify His children. For what other 
purpose, indeed, is it conceivable that God should have 
made marble beautiful, since, of all creatures on this earth, 
man alone has been gifted with faculties capable of enjoy- 
ing it. Considered under this point of view, the flowers 
of the rocks seem peculiarly suitable for church decora- 
tion. 

Our forefathers in mediaeval times liberally employed the 
best sculpture of their day ; but while we admire the devo- 
tional feeling which often spread a charm over their works, 
even when poor art marred artistic success, it would surely 
be a great mistake in us were we to aim at reproducing 
any of their defects. In those days anatomy v/as almost 
unknown, and art was too often found in alliance with bad 
taste and incongruity. These errors come down to us 
softened by the lapse of time, and the motive which pro- 
duced them covers them with our respect ; but shall we, in 
our turn, be " doing our best " if, with better knowledge 
of anatomy and greater technical power, we aim at nothing 
higher than imitation 1 AVith still stronger reason figures 
twisted into impossible attitudes, exaggerations, monstrosi- 
ties, and other inconsistencies ought to be avoided. The 
strange cloister-jokes and fancies often cleverly carved in 
wood or stone are scarcely excused by the want of refine- 
ment which then universally prevailed ; but, if it were only 
because they are falsifications, they are clearly out of place 
in the House of Truth. One can hardly understand a 
sculptor hewing out grotesque impish figures as fit decora- 
tions for any part of God's Temple. Surely these cannot 
be held as suited in any way to promote His glory, and 



The Earth, 245 

therefore they ought to be excluded from the Sanctuary, 
every part of which is consecrated to His service. If 
sculpture in churches be in any degree allowable, it can 
only be when it is calculated to excite emotions of rever- 
ence and devotion, not of mirth or levity. The Sacred 
Volume is an inexhaustible source from which subjects 
both suitable and beautiful may be selected. Wherever 
the standard of religious propriety is departed from, deco- 
ration in the sacred edifice easily degenerates into dese- 
cration. 

A custom became common about the beginning of last 
century, which, viewed by the light of taste and consist- 
ency and not through the medium of sentiment and associ- 
ation, must be held to have done much to disfigure the 
interior of our churches. It had its origin in that praise- 
worthy feeling which loves to cherish the memory of the 
dead ; but its effect has been to cause the walls to be stuck 
round with monumental records, in the framing of which 
more bad taste has been displayed than, perhaps, on any 
other feature within the church. Many a chancel has thus 
been fitted up in a style which brings to mind the workshop 
of a Kensal Green sculptor. Square, printed " bills " of 
marble, with deep, black edgings, are plentifully posted 
about. There are skulls — idealized in their repulsiveness, 
reposing on crossed thigh-bones of curious shapes not to 
be found in Nature, and flanked — supporter-wise — by 
monster hour-glasses. There are mantel-pieces let into the 
walls, with inscribed slabs where the grate should be. 
There are mortuary chests piled one on the top of the 
other ; urns like overgrown soup-tureens, wine-coolers with 
sloping pail-lids, and tall pots that caricature Etruscan 
vases. It is no exaggeration to say that nearly all the 
objects here mentioned may sometimes be seen collected 
within the walls of a single parish church. In the nave of 
Westminster Abbey there are certainly some exceptions j 
nevertheless its general character is too much that of a 



246 The Earth. 

museum of monumental rococoism. Out of respect for 
the dead let us accept what has been bequeathed, but it is 
surely time to substitute something better than this ques- 
tionable custom for the future. 

It seems strange that while the aid of sculpture in dec- 
orating God's House has been, more or less, almost uni- 
versally accepted, the service of its twin-sister, painting, 
has often been altogether repudiated. We know not any 
good reason why this should be, or why the work of the 
pencil should be accounted evil, while that of the chisel 
is held to be good. The question is one to be decided 
by judgment, and not by the mixture of feelings engen- 
dered by association which is often mistaken for principle. 
There is nothing that can be said in favor of sculpture, or 
other architectural ornamentation, which cannot likewise 
be said in favor of painting ; and if it be alleged that 
painting is disqualified for Protestant churches because 
it has been abused in other churches, the same thing 
may be said of sculpture and every other kind of embel- 
lishment. Both equally represent the employment in 
God's service of the talents with which He has blessed 
His children. Both come into the church by the same 
title — that they are done "to the glory of God." And if, 
in addition, the ideas they suggest penetrate to the mind 
and touch the feelings, surely they are both serving as in- 
nocent means toward a good end. The principle of the 
admissibility of painting appears, indeed, to be so gener- 
ally conceded in practice that it seems inconsistent to deny 
it in theory. Nearly all denominations now consider 
. themselves free to admire the paintings that adorn the win- 
dows of their churches, and we do not see how they can 
with consistency object on principle to representations of 
similar subjects painted upon the walls. Is it, for ex- 
ample, a right thing to depict the " Ascension " upon glass, 
and a wrong thing to take the very same drawing and the 
same colors, and lay them upon plaster ? At all events, 



The Earth, 247 

the principle which sanctions the one cannot logically be 
turned against the other. We give no opinion as to how 
far painting should be employed in decoration. Judgment 
and good taste, to say nothing of the difficulty of procur- 
ing it of a sufficiently high degree of merit, will always 
circumscribe its emjDloyment, and practically almost con- 
fine it to cathedrals and other great churches. Better, too, 
that it should be altogether omitted than introduced at the 
cost of congregational discord. No one would desire to 
see this or any other kind of church ornamentation pushed 
to excess, for it is extravagance which so often casts a 
blight over what is really good. 

The inscription of illuminated text scrolls over arches 
and in other ^ appropriate situations seems a very suitable 
kind of ornamentation. It produces a pleasing effect in 
the parish church by relieving the large bare spaces of 
white, and adding to the distinctness of architectural out- 
line. Another advantage is that, while painting and 
sculpture must always be rare from their costliness, the 
suitable execution of these texts is seldom beyond the re- 
sources of a congregation, assisted by such art as may be 
found in almost every country town. Nor are these scrolls 
without a higher aim and use. They are read over and 
over by young and old ; and every time this simple act is 
performed there is the chance that some good feeling may 
be touched. They are sacred words placed favorably to 
catch the eye, and appealing week after week to the hopes^ 
the affections, and the consciences of the congregation. 
Often they arrest the wandering thought and turn it back 
more fitted than before to join again in the Service of the 
Church. 

If it be right to sing unto the Lord in His House, 
surely it must be right not only to raise that " melody in 
our hearts " which is the most precious quality of praise, 
but also to make the outward expression of it the best that 
it is in our power to offer. What that best is must be left, 



248 The Earth, 

as in the case of sculpture and painting, to be regulated 
by the standard of propriety and devotional fitness. The 
only limit that need be put to the style of music adopted 
is that it shall be devotional in its character, and within 
the power of the congregation to execute, or at least to 
join in. The difficulties and " effects " into which parish 
choirs are sometimes tempted are no less misplaced than 
excess in sculpture and painting, and while they display 
skill, have occasionally the result of excluding the congre- 
gation from the Service altogether. Within the limit 
above assigned there is range enough to occupy the best 
means that can be brought to bear. There is no grace in 
praising like fervor, and a too elaborate choral display, 
how beautiful soever it may be in itself, goes beyond the 
real aim of congregational singing, and, by checking or 
silencing it, tempts one to wish for another Gregory to 
sweep away redundancies, introduce simplicity, and impart 
devotional feeling. 

It is unnecessary to make any estimate of the compar- 
ative value of these " aids " to devotion. Much depends 
on the peculiar mental impressionability and associations 
of the individual, and probably in no two persons would 
the standard be the same. We seek here to establish 
nothing more than the principle that, as they were all 
given for our use, not one of them should be neglected. 
A touching allusion to the Cross, for example, may excite 
the same religious feeling in the mind whether it be 
spoken, printed, painted, or sculptured. Who or what 
gave one sense the monopoly in things religious over all 
the others .'' What is there that so exclusively fits the ear 
to promote adoration, and which so rigidly excludes the 
eye ? Does the whole substance of religion consist of 
creed only, and has feeling no part in it ? Is there no 
such thing as love, pity, or sympathy in it ? If such emo- 
tions form any part of religion, then every means that can 
rouse them becomes of use, and was given for the purpose. 



The Earth, 249 

Provided the idea reaches the mind it signifies little how it 
came there, whether its starting-point was a star, a plant, a 
statue, a picture, words spoken, or letters printed. They 
are all equally symbols and means to an end. If they fail 
to send on the idea to its goal, they are all equally worth- 
less ; but if they succeed in doing this, they are all useful. 
Were we more perfect we might possibly dispense with 
many aids ; but, being as we are, we cannot afford to lose 
even the least of those that have been given to us. It is 
true that some feel the meaning of a symbol, and some do 
not ; but why should they who can profit by such appeals 
be deprived of them because there are others on whom 
they are lost ? Excess is always wrong, and a sparing use 
of symbolism in church adornment is perhaps expedient. 
We know with what force association molds conviction, 
and this is a point on which much may be yielded to opin- 
ion or even to prejudice. But supposing it were possible 
to surround ourselves in every direction with symbols of 
God's attributes, what other result than our advantage 
could arise ? what monitors for good, what shields against 
evil they would be ! Yet, if we look meditatively around, 
is not this in reality our own position ? God has encom- 
passed us on every side with symbols that recall Him 
to our thoughts, and it is habitual neglect alone which 
makes them profitless. What object is there in Nature 
which does not in some way suggest His Power, Wis- 
dom, or Goodness ? Thus were these objects used by the 
Three Children of old, and thus may they be profitably 
used by ourselves. 

If there be any kind of adornment which more than 
another seems fitted to God's House, it is that thoughtful 
use of the " green things upon the earth " with which our 
churches are decorated at certain seasons of the year. 
Flowers are the painted sculpturings of Nature — the 
shapes and colors of beauty which the Creator has lav- 
ished upon the world, and surely they can never be em- 



250 The Earth, 

ployed for a better purpose. In the church flowers sug- 
gest thoughts that are in unison with the occasion. Who 
does not understand the signs of joyful ness which they ex- 
press at Christmas and Easter ; and do they not some- 
times serve to quicken our sympathy for those who stand 
around the font .'' These are small matters ; but let us 
throw nothing away that tends to good. The time and 
care thus bestowed on the adornment of the parish church 
are not without their reward. Pious thoughts arise while 
skillful fingers are busy with the work, which, as it is done 
for the sake of God's honor, must from its very nature be 
linked with good to all concerned in it. 

Whoso off«y:eth Me praise glorifieth Me. — Ps. 1. 




^^^ 


. . . ■- ..,.-^^J,-...l.-.-- ■.■■.■■-■■— .j. 


W 



GREEN THINGS UPON THE EARTH. 



O all ye Qreen Ih'ings upon the Earthy bless ye the Lord 
Him J and magnify Him for e<ver. 



praise 




N considering the green things upon the earth we 
are in turn impressed by their beauty, their use- 
fulness, and the wisdom of design displayed in 
their creation. Ever5rwhere we see plants fitted to the dif- 
ferent conditions involved in the various climates of the 
earth — to the length of the day, which regulates the 
amount of light and heat they are to receive — and to the 
duration of the year, within the compass of whose seasons 
the cycle of their functions — growing, flowering, and 
fruit-ripening — must be completed. If the axial rotation 
of the globe were a little quicker or a little slower, the 
length of the day would be different from what it now is, 
and the actual conditions of plants would be disturbed. 
If the earth under less perfect adjustment were placed 
nearer the sun, plants would be overwhelmed in a flood 
of heat and light. Or, again, if the orbital speed of the 
earth were greater or less than it is, the length of the year 
would be altered, and the whole routine of the annual 
functions of plants would be thrown into disorder. Even 
as it is, we know the confusion which arises in the garden 
from a summer prolonged far into autumn, or from a too 
early spring. In reality, we observe that the Creator has 
everywhere endowed plants, in regard to their external 
relations, with the exact constitution which insures their 
well-being. 

Dr. Whewell has well pointed out the harmony subsist- 



252 Green Things upon the Earth. 

ing between the functions and structure of plants and that 
law of gravitation which rules the universe. Had the 
earth been more or less dense than it actually is — had its 
size been a little larger or a little smaller — had its dis- 
tance from the sun much exceeded or greatly fallen short 
of 92 millions of miles, the influence of gravity over 
every thing on the earth would be different from what it 
now is, and the whole machinery of animal and vegetable 
life would be thrown off its balance. The sap of plants, 
for example, rises from the root into the stem, and from 
the stem into the leaves, against the power of gravity. 
Now the force which urges on this stream is exactly ad- 
justed to the weight that has to be lifted ; but it is clear 
that if, from any of the causes mentioned, the gravity, or 
weight, of the sap were increased, the force which now 
suffices to raise it would be too weak for the purpose ; or 
if the weight of the sap were less, the force now moving it 
would be out of proportion, and destruction of the plant 
would inevitably ensue. 

We see also that the strength of the framework of plants 
has been nicely calculated on the same principle. The 
thickness of the stem, the tapering of the branches, the 
weight of the leaves, flowers, and fruit, are all modeled, to 
a grain, on the actual astronomical conditions in which the 
earth is placed. Were terrestrial gravity greater than it 
now is every thing would weigh more than it now does j 
or, in other words, the force with which the earth pulls 
every thing toward its centre would be increased. The 
trunk of the tree, which we now see towering into the air 
as a symbol of strength, would be unable to support the 
branches, and the branches would be overpowered by the 
leaves. The blossoms and the fruit would break down the 
stalks that hold them up, the valleys would no longer be 
adorned with wavy corn, for it, as well as the grass, would 
be dragged prostrate to the ground. But by the wise de- 
sign of the Creator, stem, branches, leaves, flowers, and 



Green Things upon the Earth, 253 

fruit have been framed in accordance with the weight they 
have to carry ; the weight is regulated by the attraction of 
the earth ; and this, again, is in exact proportion to the 
size, density, and distance of tlie sun and planets. Every 
minute microscopic fibre throughout the whole vegetable 
world has been created in exact relation to this principle, 
and in nothing, perhaps, is the fact more beautifully illus- 
trated than in plants which, like the fuchsia, the arbutus, 
or the snow-drop, incline their flowers in graceful pendants. 
As a general rule flowers are erect, and the stamens are 
longer than the pistils, in order that the pollen, or fructify- 
ing powder, may naturally fall on the stigma, or germ. It 
is obvious, however, that if these relative proportions as to 
length had existed in drooping plants, the stamens would 
have been placed lower down than the pistils ; and, conse- 
quently, the pollen when set free would have fallen to the 
ground without coming into contact with the pistil. But, 
by an obviously designed departure from the usual plan, 
the comparative length of the stamens and pistils has been 
reversed in drooping flowers, by which means the anthers 
are made to occupy their ordinary superior position ; and, 
consequently, when the pollen is set free it naturally falls 
upon the stigma, placed below it. In noticing this exqui- 
site adjustment Dr. Whewell observes, — " We have here 
a little mechanical contrivance which would have been 
frustrated if the proper intensity of gravity had not been 
assumed in the reckoning." " There is something curious 
In thus considering the whole mass of the earth from pole 
to pole, and from circumference to centre, as employed in 
keeping a snow-drop in the position most suited to the 
promotion of its vegetable health." 

And all men that see it shall say, This hath God done ; for thev shall per- 
ceive that it is God's work. — Ps. Ixiv. 

The love of flowers exists within us almost as a part of 
our nature. It calls forth some of the first cries of admira- 



254 Green Things upon the Earth, 

tion in the infant, and, by clinging to us through life, strews 
many an innocent pleasure on the way. In the daisies, 
the buttercups, the dandelions, and other wild flowers 
which the hand of childhood eagerly grasps, or twines into 
garlands and wreaths, we behold the earliest treasures of 
life. Even more especially do the " green things upon the 
earth " merit our regard for their usefulness. Plants give 
us houses for shelter and ships for commerce, and medi- 
cines with which to combat disease. They feed us and 
they clothe us. Often we may see the fields decked with 
the blue flowers of a plant which for its own beauty's sake 
obtains a welcome in many a garden border, but which is 
largely cultivated on the farm to yield a most useful cloth- 
ing. It is the common flax. From the earliest days of 
Babylon and Egypt this plant has never ceased to be a 
blessing to mankind. Specimens of linen as old as the 
Pharaohs, wrapped in endless coils round shrunken mum- 
mies, have survived to our own time ; while paintings on 
the walls of Theban tombs show us with minuteness the 
process of its manufacture, and prove that it was then es- 
sentially the same as now. In creating the flax-plant God 
gave to man a thread which by its tenacity and flexibility 
is particularly adapted to be made into clothing, while 
from its hardy constitution it is widely spread over the 
world. Thus it thrives on the mountain slopes of India, 
as well as in Northern Europe and America. In this wide 
distribution it has the superiority over its twin-blessing — 
cotton ; for the latter is limited to the warmer regions of 
the globe, and attains perfection in comparatively few of 
them. 

The cotton-plant was also from remote times known in 
the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nile, and was aptly 
termed by ancient writers the "fleece-bearing tree." From 
the more complicated preparations required for its conver- 
sion into cloth, it did not, however, come into such gen- 
eral use as flax at an early period. It was little known in 



Green Things upon the Earth. 255 

England till the reign of Charles I., when it was meritori- 
ously introduced by the East India Company, which was 
then in its infancy. So long as it was manufactured into 
cloth by hand its use was necessarily much restricted ; but 
at length Providence, in order to extend its usefulness, in- 
spired our countrymen with the invention of the needful 
machinery. In the latter part of the last century three 
men arose within a few years of each other — Hargreave, 
Arkwright, and Compton — whose ingenuity produced the 
spinning-jenny (1767), the spinning-frame (1775), and the 
spinning-mule (1779), which have brought good and cheap 
clothing within easy reach of a large portion of the human 
race. There are, in fact, few inhabited spots upon the earth 
into which machinery-manufactured cotton has not pene- 
trated, and more families, perhaps, owe their daily bread 
to it than to any other branch of industry. Distributed 
everywhere, this little plant has also become a great agent 
in the spread of civilization ; and, as the missionary often 
enters with the merchant, it may likewise be considered as 
assisting in the propagation of true religion. Certain it 
is that the way to many a heathen tribe would have re- 
mained barred against every Christian effort, but for the 
opening which the cotton traffic prepared for it. 

The history of the cotton-plant points to something 
more elevated than commerce and manufactures. When 
we consider that the time of its introduction into England 
coincided with the commencing expansion of our trade — 
that in the course of a century afterward, when the popu- 
lation of the world had much increased and had become 
accustomed to its use, the needful machinery was invented, 
by which the cloth might be produced to an extent some- 
what in proportion to the (Jemand — when we think of the 
perfection and cheapness of the manufacture, the wide 
penetration of modern commerce into every land, and the 
active zeal of missionary enterprise — each step being, as 
it were, a preparation for the one that followed — who can 



256 Green Thmgs upon the Earth. 

resist the conviction that these events are to be regarded 
not as unconnected and accidental, but as the planned 
working of Providence ? 

Various plants supply a soft white down which, judging 
by ordinary examination, appears as well adapted for manu- 
facturing cloth -as cotton itself. But there is a structural 
peculiarity inherent in the fibre of the latter which distin- 
guishes it not only from flax-fibre but from most other 
downs ; and, although so minute as to be microscopic, it 
nevertheless distinctly marks the purpose of the great 
Designer. It may here be observed that cotton is a vege- 
table hair enveloping the seed capsules, while flax-thread 
is a kind of fine woody fibre of which the stem of the 
plant is chiefly composed. Both are originally round in 
form ; but the flax-fibre being strong continues to retain 
its shape, while the cotton-fibre being weak collapses in 
drying up. In the field of the microscope it will be seen 
that every cotton-fibre is flattened into a minute ribbon 
twisted round at intervals upon itself, while its surface and 
edges are roughened and unequal. From this roughness 
comes the invaluable property that when the fibres are 
twisted in the manufacture they cling and lock into each 
other, by which not only is the strength of the thread in- 
creased, but the inconvenient tendency to untwist observed 
in many other fibres is also obviated. The degree of fine- 
ness to which, from this peculiarity, cotton-fibres may be 
spun is almost incredible. A single pound weight of cot- 
ton has been twisted by machinery into a thread 4770 
miles in length ! Such fairy-like thread, it need scarcely 
be observed, cannot be applied to any useful purpose, for 
cloth made from twist many degrees coarser than this, by 
means of a machine as delicate in its action as a watch, 
was found to be as fragile as a spider's web, and would 
not bear handling. 

Are we not too apt to take our good gifts as mere things 
of course, and to lose sight of the magnitude of a blessing 



Green Things upon the Earth, 257 

in its commonness ? The necessity for clothing is, for the 
greater part of mankind, only second to the necessity for 
food ; and flax and cotton stand in the same relation to 
our clothing as wheat and other cereals do to our daily 
bread. If all the health and happiness which these two 
" green things of the earth " have diffused among mankind 
could be added up into one sum, what expression would 
be comprehensive enough adequately to represent it ? 

Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all His benefits. — Ps. ciii. 

The lower animals have their food given to them al- 
ready prepared by the hand of Nature ; but man requires 
not only to cook his food, but often to alter the original 
condition of the plant itself whence it is derived, and im- 
prove it by cultivation. Those cereals, for example, on 
which we now mainly depend for " the staff of life " were 
originally wdld grass. They have been brought to their 
present state of perfection by long years of patient cultiva- 
tion, but they would infallibly relapse into their original 
wildness if they were neglected even for a few seasons. 
The same observation applies to the potato, turnip, cab- 
bage, and many other useful vegetables. How great the 
skill and perseverance expended in bringing them to their 
present state, and what gratitude is due to the King of 
Nature for having prompted us with the knowledge neces- 
sary to accomplish so great and beneficial a result ! 

In our comparatively cold climate Nature is, as usual, 
kind and bountiful, but she exacts a greater labor-payment 
than in warmer countries. The tax thus levied must not, 
however, be regarded as altogether without profit. If the 
climate bring the difficulty, it also brings energetic heads, 
well-braced muscles, and firmly strung nerv^es to cope with 
it. Hence, although our farmers are doomed to a con- 
stant struggle with the weather, the soil, and other adverse 
influences, they generally triumph in the end by skill and 

17 



258 Green Things upon the Earth, 

industry, and are able to produce both enoiigh and to 
spare. 

In tropical countries, on the contrary, the Creator, as 
if in compassion to that muscular relaxation and want of 
energy which heat engenders, has caused the earth to pro- 
duce its fruits with comparatively little expense of labor, 
and has often multiplied in a wonderful manner the uses 
to which a single plant can be applied. The catalogue of 
products yielded by the date-palm includes, according to 
Humboldt, " wine, oil, vinegar, farinaceous food, and sugar, 
timber and ropes, mats and paper." An allied tree — the 
cocoa-nut palm — which grows without cultivation, is in 
itself a storehouse of every thing needful to sustain life in 
those climates. Thus it " forms a grateful shade from the 
vertical sun ; its timber serves to build huts, and its leaves 
to thatch them. The cut sheath of the flowers distils a 
sweet liquid, which by fermentation speedily becomes the 
palm -wine so eagerly drunk by the natives of hot climates. 
From this liquor sugar may be obtained by boiling, or, if 
it be long exposed to the air, an excellent vinegar is made. 
The nut is most valuable as food, and indeed forms the 
staff of life to the coral islanders cf the Pacific j it like- 
wise supplies an oil, equal to that of almonds, which is 
extensively used in India. The strong fibres enveloping 
the nut are turned to numerous domestic purposes, while 
the shell itself may be made into cups or goblets." 

The various climates of the globe have impressed a 
special physiognomy on the flora of its different regions. 
Within the tropics the great stimulants of vegetable growth 
— light, heat, and moisture — exist at their maximum, 
and consequently the glories of the plantal world are 
there developed in the highest perfection. Tropical for- 
ests surpass those of the rest of the globe in their beauty, 
color, size, density, and fragrance ; but their characteristic 
physiognomy is more especially stamped upon them by 
the bananas, cocoas, and other kinds of palm, and by the 



Green Things upon the Earth, 259 

dazzling orchids which gem or garland the trees. No de- 
scription can adequately portray the profusion of tropical 
vegetation. In the vicinity of the larger towns, where cul- 
tivation prevails, the rank exuberance of plantal life is of 
course kept within bounds ; but in the jungles and in the 
recesses of the primeval forest its density is extreme, and 
the surface of the earth is packed with the abundance of 
its own richness. Through obstacles like these the ser- 
pent may creep, or the wild beast, sheathed in the armor 
of its thick fur, may force a passage ; but man can only 
cut out his way with the hatchet in his hand. On either 
side of the passage thus driven through, vegetation tan- 
gled, interwoven, compressed by plant growing upon 
plant, builds itself up as solid almost as a wall. The den- 
sity of the leafage overhead is in keeping with the require- 
ments of such climates. Strong, protecting coverings are 
necessary to intercept and absorb the fierce rays of the 
sun, and shield the surface of the earth from their scorch- 
ing touch ; they are needed, also, to break the fall of the 
deluge which pours down like a water-spout from southern 
skies. The blackness of the shade may be measured 
when it is contrasted with the vivid points and lines of al- 
most dazzling light which here and there pierce through 
chinks in the leafy canopy. The course of a river search- 
ing for a passage through the thick forests of South Amer- 
ica seems hewn out among the trees ; it has no shelving 
banks of green, but is cut clean out of the forest mass. 
" In descending the streams between the Orinoco and the 
Amazon," says Humboldt, " we often tried to land, but 
without being able to step out of the boat. Toward sun- 
set we sailed along the bank for an hour to discover, not 
an opening, since none exists, but a spot less wooded, 
where our Indians, by means of the hatchet and manual 
labor, would gain space enough for a resting-place for 
twelve or thirteen persons." There must be something 
extremely captivating both to the eye and the imagination 



26o Green Things upon the Earth, 

in tropical scenery. All travelers speak of it — both of 
its wild forests and its cultivated spots — with enthusiasm, 
and with that affection in which memory embalms only a 
few of the places one visits in a lifetime. Of the smiling 
environs of some Brazilian cities Darwin thus writes : — 
" While quietly walking along the shady pathways, and 
admiring each successive view, I wished to find language 
to express my ideas. Epithet after epithet was found too 
weak to convey to those who have not visited the inter- 
tropical regions the sensation of delight which the mind 
experiences. I have said that the plants in a hot-house 
fail to communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I 
must recur to it. The land is one great wild, untidy, lux- 
uriant hot-house, made by Nature herself, but taken pos- 
session of by man, who has studded it with gay houses 
and formal gardens. How great would be the desire in 
any admirer of Nature to behold, if such were possible, 
the scenery of another planet ! Yet to any person in 
Europe it may be truly said that, at the distance of only a 
few degrees from his native soil, the glories of another 
world are opened to him. In my last walk I stopped 
again and again to gaze on those beauties, and endeav- 
ored to fix in my mind for ever an impression which at 
the time I knew sooner or later must fail. The form of 
the orange-tree, the cocoa-nut, the palm, the mango, the 
fern-tree, the banana, will remain clear and separate ; but 
the thousand beauties which unite them into one perfect 
scene must fade away ; yet they will leave, like a tale 
told in childhood, a picture full of indistinct, but most 
beautiful figures." 

Here is another sketch of southern vegetation, drawn by 
Piazzi Smith during his excursion to Teneriffe : — " When 
walking at midday in one of the basalt-paved streets, each 
glittering stone sending back the full rays of a vertical 
sun, and the gleaming houses on either side affording a 
steady, white, hot glare of unmitigated sunshine, what 



Green Things upon the Earth, 261 

words in a northern language can express the delightful 
emotions, when at the open gateway of one of the semi- 
Moorish abodes we look in upon a grove of bananas ! 
Throwing a tender green shade over the interior court, 
their grand and delicately structured leaves rise up aloft, 
catch the fierce rays of the sun before they can do mis- 
chief, receive them into their substance, make them give 
out the most varied yellow greens ; pass them on from leaf 
to leaf subdued and softened — pass them on to the 
oleander's fountain of rose-pink flowers, to the dark-green 
of the orange-like myrtle and the bay; and leave just light 
enough at last in the green cavern below to show the 
bubbling of some tiny fountain — the welling heart of the 
fairy oasis." 

In striking contrast to such pictures of tropical splendor, 
let us, for an instant, turn to those desolate tracts in the 
far north, where the physical conditions we have been con- 
sidering are reversed, and where light, heat, and moisture 
are at a minimum. Still, even into this inhospitable 
climate a meagre vegetable life extends. There is, in fact, 
no latitude into which man has penetrated where plants 
do not exist ; and it may be confidently predicted that, if 
land should be found under the poles, there also a flora 
will be seen to flourish. Covered up in its blanket of 
snow there is a lichen on which in the winter time the 
Esquimaux can contrive to exist when other provisions 
fail ; and it was by means of this plant that a boat-party 
detached from Kane's expedition beyond Smith's Sound 
were saved from starvation. Some nutritious mucilage is 
also extracted from the Iceland moss, which from its mild, 
demulcent properties is favorably known in many a sick- 
room. But as the short, polar summer advances, and the 
ground is bathed day and night in warm sunlight, vegeta- 
tion springs up upon the surface with a bound. Scarcely 
has the last snow-flake melted from the ground before the 
earth is carpeted with the softest, shortest, greenest grass. 



262 Green Things 2ipon the Earth, 

In propitious spots the saxifrage, primrose, anemone, ra- 
nunculus, and wild thyme crop up and brighten the dull 
surface with their pretty flowers. With these are associated 
the scurvy-grass and the sorrel, — plants which may well 
be deemed providential in a climate of which scurvy is the 
direst scourge. 

Between these t\Vo extremes there is a long series of 
gradations in vegetable life, which we have here barely 
space to notice. In general it may be said that there is 
a progressive increase in plantal abundance and richness 
as we pass from high latitudes toward the tropics. In 
Europe, tree life commences humbly round the bleak 
shores of the North Cape. The birch and the willow first 
appear, not with the graceful forms and foliage by which 
they are known to us in England, but as dwarfed and 
scrubby shrubs, — interesting only as the earliest efforts 
of Nature to establish forest life. Then come the hardy 
Scotch fir and the spruce ; and these are soon joined by 
the sturdy sycamore. Among our favorite ornamental 
trees the mountain-ash, or rowan, is the first to show itself, 
robed in white blossoms in spring and covered with ruddy 
berries in autumn. The sandy soil of Denmark is now 
the great home of the beech. By the time our own belt 
of climate is reached, forest life has passed from scarcity 
to profusion, and our woods are distinguished by their 
variety no less than by their beauty. The oak, which be- 
gan by struggling for a bare existence about Trontheim, 
in Norway, has by degrees grown stronger and nobler, 
until by the consent of all it has attained the rank of 
monarch of the wood. 

In descending from the north, barley and rye are the 
first among cereals to bless the earth. They begin to be 
worth cultivation in Norway as far up as latitude 70°, 
where, under the stimulating influence of the constant 
summer sun, they are sown, reaped, and gathered within 
the short three months' interval that intervenes between 



Green Things upon the Earth, 263 

the last snows of spring and the first of autumn. In our 
island the profitable cultivation of wheat barely reaches 
John o'Groat's, but it extends a little higher on the op- 
posite coast of Norway. It attains its highest perfection 
in the south of Europe. A line passing through the north- 
ern provinces of France and Germany marks the limit 
beyond which the vine does not flourish in the open* air. 
As we approach the extreme south of Europe we reach a 
plantal frontier, including only a few of the sunniest re- 
gions of Spain, Italy, and Greece, where the productions 
of temperate climes begin to be blended with thos^ that 
characterize the tropics — where the olive, orange, and 
oleander are interspersed with the hardiest of the palm 
tribe. This sudden glimpse of the richness of southern 
vegetation is veiy delightful to a wanderer from Northern 
Europe who sees it for the first time, and it forms one of 
the most striking transitions in the aspect of plantal life 
which is to be found anywhere. Passing beyond the 
southern shores of the Mediterranean the temperature 
rapidly increases, and vegetation soon assumes a true 
tropical character. 

It has been computed that the earth is enriched with 
at least 100,000 different kinds of plants. The seed is 
brought forth with a profusion which not only provides 
amply for the increase of the species, but which generally 
leaves a large supply over and above to serve as food for 
birds and other animals. It is remarkable what pains 
Nature takes to distribute the seed. The chief sower is 
the wind, which blows the seed about until a suitable spot 
has been found. Many seeds are furnished with feathery 
appendages, which ?nay be compared to wings or sails, in 
order that they may more easily catch the breeze and be 
wafted through the air. Most frequently the seed-vessel 
opens after it has reached maturity, and casts its contents 
over the ground ; at other times it waits until it is touched 
by some passing object. Some, like the mahogany, open 



264 Green Things upon the Earth, 

when they become dry ; others wait until moisture and 
other circumstances are propitious for germination, when 
the seed-vessels open and the contents are scattered around. 
De Candolle tells us that the seed of the rose of Jericho 
does not ripen until the season is so far advanced that 
every drop of water has been sucked out of the soil. It 
would answer no good purpose were the seed to be allowed 
to fall upon such arid ground. The plant, however, is 
rescued from its dilemma by a curious device of Nature. 
Under the influence of the scorching sun the branches dry 
up artd become rolled into an irregular, elastic ball. By 
and by the wind of the desert, as it sweeps along the dusty 
plain, catches the plant and tears it up by the root. The 
ball rolls easily over the surface, and is driven to and fro 
until it sticks fast in some little oasis or spot of moisture. 
During this rough journey the seed-vessels hold their pre- 
cious contents firmly and safely ; but no sooner do they 
perceive the " signal " of moisture than they open freely, 
and the seed falling on " good ground " springs up rapidly. 
Though much seed is lost — or at least does not germi- 
nate — there is a providence which takes care that every 
spot of earth shall be supplied v/ith the vegetable growths 
that suit it. What wonderful efforts are sometimes made 
to stock new land with plants ! An eminent naturalist, 
after describing the beauty of the cocoa-nut groves that 
flourish on the Coral Islands of the Pacific, has suggested 
the chapter of designed accidents to which they owe their 
origin. When the island emerges from the deep it is a 
barren reef of limestone rock, glittering white and bright 
under a tropical sun. In process of time patches of chalky 
mud and sand, formed upon its surf^e by the action of 
rain and waves, are washed into clefts and sheltered places 
along the shore. The island now begins to be fit for vege- 
tation ; and, strange though it may seem, the cocoa is 
usually one of the first plants to appear. How does the 
seed get there ? The bulky nut is too large to be carried 



Green Things upon the Earth, 265 

by birds, and ships avoid the reef as a source of danger. 
A stray cocoa-nut that grew in far-distant groves, after 
being the sport of storms and currents, has hit the new 
spot in the lone ocean. Cast ashore by the surf, it has 
become fixed in one of the muddy clefts, where it finds 
enough of nourishment for its growth. By and by a young 
plantation of descendants is established around. The fall 
of the leaves and the decay of each generation add to the 
stock of mold and supply the soil for more varied vegeta- 
tion, until at length the bare, white reef is changed into a 
scene which sailors describe as an earthly paradise. 

With what orderly providence all the steps of this long 
operation succeed each other. There is, first, the emer- 
gence of the bare rock, and the preparation of a little store 
of mud. Then some palm-tree, growing perhaps hun- 
dreds of miles away, drops a nut, which, rolling into the 
neighboring stream is carried downward into the sea. It 
is thus launched upon a seemingly random and useless 
voyage — a waif of the ocean, unseen by man, but guided 
by the hand of Providence. Encased in its armor of 
shell, against which wind and wave beat in vain, it seems 
as if constructed on purpose to carry a life-freight across 
stormy seas. Soon the current takes it in possession — 
slowly it drifts along — months roll on, and the cocoa-nut 
is still sailing on its mission. Rocks are avoided against 
which it might have dashed, and shores on which it might 
have been stranded, until it arrivca at last at the lonely 
spot in the wide ocean, and then the surf casts it ashore 
into its destined cleft where the little patch of mud is 
ready to receive it. 

As a protection against the accidents to which seeds are 
exposed, Nature has endowed them with wonderful tenac- 
ity of life. Passing over the assertions that have been 
made about the vitality of Egyptian wheat after a 3000 
years' slumber in Theban tombs, there are other cases suf- 
ficiently wonderful, about the authenticity of which there 



266 Green Things upon the Earth, 

can be ' no question. In some parts of the country 
, " dykes " or mound-fences have existed from time imme- 
morial ; but no sooner are these leveled than the seeds of 
wild flowers, which must have lain buried in them for ages, 
sprout forth vigorously, just as if the ground had been 
recently sown with seed. Plants, too, which formerly 
flourished in the district, but which had long disappeared 
from it, have sometimes been recovered in this manner. 
In a well-authenticated case, a house that was known to 
have existed for 200 years was pulled down, and no sooner 
was the surface soil exposed to the influence of light and 
moisture, than it became covered with a crop of wild mus- 
tard or charlock. Instances might easily be multiplied 
almost indefinitely, but we shall be satisfied with noticing 
one of a very extraordinary kind. In the time of the 
Emperor Hadrian a man died soon after he had eaten 
plentifully of raspberries. He was buried at Dorchester. 
About thirty years ago the remains of this man, together 
with coins of the Roman Emperor, were discovered in a 
coflin at the bottom of a barrow, thirty feet under the sur- 
face. The man had thus lain undisturbed for some 1700 
years. But the most curious circumstance connected with 
the case was that the raspberry seeds were recovered from 
the stomach, and sown in the garden of the Horticultural 
Society, w^here they germinated and grew into healthy 
bushes. 

There is a period of helplessness in the life of a plant 
when it is dependent on the provision that has been made 
for it by its parent, and which corresponds very closely to 
a similar condition in the life of animals. A seed may be 
compared to an ^^g. The greater part of the bulk of an 
^^g consists of nutritive matter, which the embryo chick ab- 
sorbs until it is sufficiently developed to break its prison 
shell and shift for itself In like manner the greater 
part of the seed consists of nutritive matter, which is ab- 
sorbed by the embryo plant until it is sufficiently devel- 



Greefu Things upon the Earth, 267 

oped to provide independently for its own growth by send- 
ing its root down into the soil and its stem up into the air. 
How strikingly the providence of the Creator is displayed 
in the different phases through which a seed passes ! The 
old plant, before parting with its tender offspring, softly 
envelops it in a thick, warm blanket of starch, and covers 
this over with the tough, dense wrappers of the seed, in 
order that the life-spark within may sleep in safety through 
the winter, until Spring awakens it with her signal calls of 
light and heat. This starchy substance is insoluble, and, 
therefore, easily preserves itself, in most cases, against the 
melting influences of damp or rain. But this ver}^ quality, 
which protects it so well during the winter, is a fatal bar 
against its being used as nourishment by the embryo plant, 
whose delicate powers of assimilation enable it to feed 
only on substances that are soluble. To meet this ne- 
cessity a process of vital chemistry is instituted on the ap- 
proach of spring, by which the insoluble starch is con- 
verted by a kind of fermentation into a soluble saccharine 
substance called " diastase." On this the germ can act 
readily, and thus obtains abundance of food. Every body 
has observed how potatoes change as spring comes on. 
Their mealiness, that is, a portion of their starch, is gone, 
and they have become waxy and sweet. Their value for 
the table is impaired, but their fitness to serve as seed has 
been secured. There is no " spoiling," as is often thought. 
The covering which kept out the rain now splits to allow 
the passage of stem and root ; and the blanket which kept 
out the winter cold, being no longer needed, is put off at 
the command of Nature, or, rather, it begins a new course 
of usefulness by converting itself into a soluble substance 
on which the young plant can feed. 

How happens it — is it from contrast merely, or from 
revived association, — that " green things " never seem 
more attractive than when they greet us unexpectedly in 
the midst of crowded cities .'' Buried though the Londoner 



268 Green Things tipon the JEarth, 

be in his labyrinth of bricks, he is yet happily within reach 
of those beautiful parks where Nature blends itself so 
charmingly with Art, and where at leisure hours he can 
relax the tension of his thoughts and watch the annual 
return of spring and summer. But did the reader ever 
stumble upon a patch of verdure in the midst of the 
noisy, bustling city, closely hidden between streets and 
gables, with, perhaps, the not unfrequent plane-tree rising 
in the centre and diffusing shade and freshness all around ? 
The hum of London traffic breaks softly there upon the 
ear, like the hollow sound of a distant sea, and soothes 
rather than disturbs. All is wrapped in almost cloister 
silence. In summer, besides the shade, there is the grate- 
ful coolness produced by the evaporation going on from 
the beautiful broad leaves. Instead of flinging back the 
hot glare of the sun, like the stony desert in which it is set, 
the plane absorbs a portion of the light for its own use, 
and then sends back to the eye the rest, softened into re- 
freshing green. It is curious to think how many of those 
verdant oases still survive in the old heart of modern 
Babylon, even where the bricks are thickest on the 
ground ; and never do they disappear at the summons of 
the architect or the engineer without leaving behind them 
remembrances of regret. 

We have often thought that one of the most pleasing 
sights to be seen in St. Giles's or Spitalfields are the flower- 
pots, including broken jugs and battered, lidless coffee- 
pots, in which many a decent family tries, not unsuccess- 
fully, to coax a little verdure to abide with them throughout 
the year. So also, when we escape by rail from London, 
and skim over the house-tops of some densely peopled 
suburb, what eye does not dip with kindly glance into the 
little gardens marvelously wedged in between the backs 
of humble streets. There the busy workman contrives to 
find time and heart to wage constant war with city dust 
and falling "blacks." There, in the intervals of toil, he 



Green Things upon the Earth, 269 

changes the scene, and finds himself face to face with 
Nature. There he can note how plants grow, how seeds 
germinate, how the root grasps the soil, how the foliage 
bursts forth, how summer ripens the fruit and. autumn 
strikes down the leaves. Thus, though fate claims him 
for the town, he is not absolutely cut'off from the " green 
things upon the earth ; " and in his cherished spot of gar- 
den he finds ideas that link his thoughts with country 
scenes. Nor is our rapid survey less pleasing when we 
reflect that such pursuits for leisure hours have a moral 
value to the workman beyond the mere interest that lies 
upon the surface, for they are antagonistic to dissipation, 
and lead straight from the dram-shop. 

Let all the trees of the wood rejoice before the Lord. — Ps. xcvi. 

Among " green things " trees stand out preeminently as 
the grandest of God's works. In beauty they are sur- 
passed by no other kind of plant, while in height, size, and 
strength they have no rival among living things. When 
polished, many kinds of wood exhibit a variety of color 
and figure which may compete with the finest marble. In 
its physical qualities wood is admirably adapted to our 
use. Thus many kinds are soft, like pine or poplar ; 
others hard, like oak or holly ; some light, as cedar or 
lime ; others so heavy that they sink in water, like ebony 
or lignum vitae. The yew has a durability expressed in 
the proverb that " a post of yew will outlast a post of 
iron." Some are remarkable for their toughness, like the 
ash. In short, there is hardly any quality rendered neces- 
sary by the thousand purposes both of use and ornament 
to which wood is applied which is not to be found in one 
kind or another. How much this variety contributes to 
the comfort and resources of our daily life need not here 
be pointed out, but we cannot fail to see in it an evidence 
of the kindness with which our Father has foreseen and 
provided for all our wants. 



270 Green TJimgs ttpon the Earth, 

Some of the giants in the forests of Northwestern 
America attain a height of upward of two hundred and 
thirty feet, and they are said to have a girth of one hun- 
dred and twelve feet, which represents a diameter rathei 
exceeding thirty-seven feet. In tropical forests the great 
cable palm has a st5m five hundred feet in length. Fa- 
vored beyond most other living things, there is for trees no 
age that excludes beauty — not even the period of decay. 
What a goodly sight it is to see an old oak battling with 
Time ! The sturdy monarch yields only inch by inch to the 
power that conquers all things, and he protracts his fall 
with dignity and picturesqueness. The bole is rugged 
with the scars that were left ages ago, when the huge arms 
of his strong days were torn from his side by the storm ; 
and it is breached here and there with gaps and fissures 
which it has taken centuries to chisel out, but through 
which all-conquering Time, baffled elsewhere, is fain to 
enter in and gnaw out a way to the heart. Of the trunk 
that once formed an emblem of strength but a shapeless 
fragment remains ; yet in the midst of ruin the brave old 
oak still sends forth to every spring its accustomed tribute, 
whose green freshness stands out in curious contrast to the 
withered stem that bears it up. Following the universal 
law the old tree instinctively fights for life, and shrinks 
from ceasing to exist. 

Trees are full of interest as the broadest living links that 
bind us to the past. There is nothing else with life that 
bridges across the Middle Ages and carries us back into re- 
mote antiquity. The oldest forest patriarchs were planted 
long before history occupied herself with chronicling such 
events, still there are other means by which the age of trees 
may be approximatively determined. There are, perhaps, 
in England as many oaks named after William the Con- 
queror as there are old feudal towers attributed to Julius 
Caesar, and there are at least some trees to which even a 
higher antiquity may be indubitably assigned. The oldest 



Green TJimgs upon the Earth, 271 

and largest tree of which AVindsor can boast is the " King 
Oak," which Loudon tells us is said to have been a favor- 
ite with the Conqueror when he inclosed the forest It is 
twenty-six feet in circumference, and is supposed to be a 
thousand years old. More famous still is the Winfarthing 
oak, near Diss, in Norfolk, which tradition asserts was 
known as " the old oak " even in the Conqueror's time. 
Immediately above the root its circumference is seventy 
feet, and forty feet at the middle of the bole. According 
to the best authorities this oak is believed to be not less 
than 1500 years old ! Not many buildings now existing^ 
except in ruins, are so ancient as this tree. In the Con- 
queror's time it ' might well be called " old," for it had 
then seen some seven hundred summers. It was an old 
tree when Alfred the Great was fighting the Danes and 
founding the English monarchy ; in fact, it may be said 
to have lived through the whole " History of. England." 
Another tree, the sober-mantled yew, — associated in our 
thoughts with the peaceful parish church-yard, — attains a 
remarkable size and longevity. Numbers are to be found 
with a girth of 2 5 or 2 7 feet ; and there is one at Anker- 
wyke, near Windsor, which is believed to be 1000 years 
old, and which, therefore, must have been flourishing 
in ripe maturity when King John was signing Magna 
Charta on the neighboring Runnymede. Another famous 
yew grew near Fountain's Abbey, whose age, as indicated 
by the concentric rings of its trunk, must have been about 
12 14 years. Scientific deduction was in this instance cor- 
roborated by history ; for it is on record that, while the 
abbey was being built in 1133, the monks were accustomed 
to take shelter under it from the rain. Mention is likewise 
made of another yew, which, one would think, must have 
been the Methuselah of its tribe, for its age, as was infer- 
red from the usual structural evidence, reached back over 
a space of 2880 years. Admitting this estimate to be true, 
the tree must have been planted about the time when Sol- 



272 Green Things upon the Earth, 

omon began to reign in Israel. The great botanist, De 
Candolle, believed that the age of the famous Baobab of 
the Cape de Verde Islands, whose circumference is 109 
feet, reached far beyond the period mentioned. 

Hardly less interesting than these celebrated trees are 
the lineal descendants and last existing remnants of the 
primeval forests which in the time of Caesar and Tacitus 
covered our island. A few of these oaks, with the badge 
of their ancient pedigree strongly stamped upon them, still 
linger on in several places ; and their venerable aspect 
never fails to suggest that they belong to an older race 
of trees than the new-looking generations that flourish 
around. Such are the noble oaks of Cadzow, near Hamil- 
ton, the true descendants of those Caledonian forests 
which root back beyond the beginnings of Scottish history. 
In various parts of the " middle south " of England, near 
Croydon, for example, one stumbles now and then upon a 
group of patriarchal oaks, living apart by themselves, and 
far out of the way of woods and parks. It is impossible 
for a moment to doubt their ancient descent, or not to rec- 
ognize in them the last survivors of the forest of Andred's 
Weald, which in days of yore spread widely over this 
southern district of England. 

Among all the " green things upon the earth " which 
crowd around to attract our notice there are none which 
creep in about our hearts like certain individual trees. 
They stand apart by themselves, and are regarded by us 
with what we must call a sentiment of affection, if such an 
expression may be used toward a tree. We have come to 
know them so well, that we begin almost to fancy that they 
must know us. Trees, moreover, are objects around which 
memory twines some of her firmest cords, and not unfre- 
quently they appear among the starting-points of our rec- 
ollections. With advancing years the scenes of early life 
grow dim in spite of every effort to retain them ; and in 
looking back at the vanishing picture we often see the 



Green Things ttpon the Earth, 273 

fomi of a tree in the remote distance. Some of our own 
earliest remembrances happen to be associated with an 
old laburnum. In those far-off days it was our ship. In 
growing it had spread quaintly into three stems — these 
were the masts ; and the branches, by which we swung 
ourselves from one to the other, were the ropes and rig- 
ging. Sometimes it was calm, and then we reposed lazily 
among the leafage ; at other times, a gale was supposed to 
blow, which we gallantly rode out among the waving 
branches. But the invariable climax of our enjoyment 
was to fancy ourselves shipwrecked, and then with loud 
shouts we swung and clambered about from one branch 
to the other in all the pleasurable excitement of imaginary 
danger. There is nothing that brings back the treasured 
feelings of early boyhood with greater freshness than the 
sight of that old tree. Most people, no doubt, have 
their laburnum. 

How wonderful is the circulation of the sap ! Look at 
a huge tree. Let the eye girth its full proportions, glance 
up the stem, follow the branches, and try to estimate the 
twigs and leaves. Then let imagination trace the corre- 
sponding labyrinth of root and fibres underground. How 
wonderful to reflect that, during the greater part of the 
year, a stream of sap gathered in the soil is actively flow- 
ing upward through root and stem, branches and twigs, 
to every single leaf in all that tower of foliage. How 
mighty the intelligence which has adjusted the atmos- 
pheric pressure and the power exercised in the vessels 
and cells so that they exactly produce the force required 
for carrying on the circulation all through the plant, and 
which has accurately meted out to each microscopic cur- 
rent its proper strength, so that it shall neither flag from 
want of impulse, nor, like an ill-regulated torrent, burst 
its channel and destroy instead of supporting life. In the 
higher classes of animals, with a circulation that is both 

shorter and less opposed to gravity, there is a central 
18 



2 74 Green Things upon the Earth, 

heart to pump, and elastic vessels to convey the blood \ 
but here there is no heart to urge on the current, and the 
vessels are, for the most part, stiff, unyielding tubes. It is 
now many years since Hales first demonstrated the force 
with which the sap is propelled in jDlants by dividing a 
vine in spring and connecting the lower end with a tube. 
He then found that the sap was urged upward with a 
power equal to a column of thirty-eight inches of mercury, 
or nearly five times greater than the current in the crural 
artery of a horse. The forces that produce this startling 
result are somewhat obscure. Transpiration from the 
leaves may exert a suctional action. Chemico-vital agen- 
cies are doubtless busily at work. Capillary attraction as- 
sists, and in particular that curious power by which thick 
fluids attract thin fluids through membranes such as cell- 
walls, and to which the term endosmose is applied. 

In all that relates to the " green things upon the earth " 
we see evidences of design and care not less striking 
than those we admire in the animal kingdom. It may be 
said that leaves and roots have a power which reminds us 
of the instinct possessed by the lower animals. Leaves 
cannot perform their functions without light ; hence they 
invariably seek it out, one might say, intuitively, and pre- 
sent to it their upper surface. In whatever position the 
seed is placed in the ground the root will turn downward, 
while the future stem will grow upward. Again, the roots 
of plants contain numerous absorbent vessels, of which 
the ultimate extremities, or " spongioles," are surrounded 
by a mass of tender cells, forming a kind of spongy mem- 
brane through which the nutriment derived from the soil 
must pass in a state of solution. Now these rootlets pos- 
sess a certain discrimination, or power of selecting food, 
and of rejecting what would be poisonous or hurtful to the 
plant. Besides this they seek out the nourishing patches 
of the soil, and have a way of divining, as if instinctively, 
where the richest food is to be obtained. The root of the 



Green Things tipon the Earth, 275 

famous vine at Hampton Court once fell under the at- 
tractive influence of a neighboring sewer, and actually 
forced its way through solid masonry in order to reach it. 
A case even more remarkable is related by Dr. Carpenter, 
in which a drain at Thoresby Park was found blocked up 
by the roots of some gorse growing at a distance of six 
feet. Another instance of what we are tempted to call the 
instinctive sagacity of roots in their efforts to obtain nour- 
ishment is given in the "Gardener's Magazine" for 1837. 
Near the river Leven, in the West Highlands, a shoot was 
thrown out from the bole of an old oak, about 15 feet 
from the ground. Receiving, as it would appear, insuffi- 
cient nourishment from the tree, the shoot sent a root first 
down to the ground, and then about 30 feet onward across 
a bare rock, until it met with a patch of suitable soil, in 
which it imbedded itself Few things connected with 
plants are more remarkable than the certainty with which 
they detect crevices in walls or other solid obstacles, of 
which they take advantage and pass through in search of 
food. The tender rootlet first insinuates itself, and then, 
under the thickening and hardening process of subsequent 
growth, it becomes an ever-widening wedge, which forces 
its way through the densest soils, loosens blocks of ma- 
sonry, and rends even solid slabs of rock. 

Leaves are the lungs, or gills, of plants, where, as in the 
higher orders of animals, the nutritive fluid or sap is per- 
fected by the action of the air for the purpose of forming 
the different tissues and secretions. They might equally 
be termed aerial roots, for they extract from the air the 
chief portion of the carbon, or charcoal, of which the 
wood and the other solid parts of plants mainly consist. 
In respect to this important part of their nutrition, there- 
fore, the atmosphere forms an inexhaustible reservoir of 
supply in which the leaves are always plunged — a pasture- 
field in which they browse all the day long. 

As carbon is a solid substance, it is obvious that the 



276 Gree7i Things upon the Earth. 

leaves could not have obtained it in that form ; and in 
order that it might be brought to them by diffusion through 
the atmosphere, it was essential that it should assume the 
gaseous state. The Creator, therefore, combined it with 
oxygen, so as to convert it into carbonic acid, in which 
condition it readily diffuses itself through the air, and 
sweeps over the surface of every leaf. In a matter so im- 
portant Nature has left nothing uncertain, but has so ar- 
ranged it that the mixture shall not only be most intimate, 
but that it shall be of uniform strength, and that no part 
of the atmosphere into which plants can penetrate shall 
be without its due proportion. This supply of gaseous 
food, as has been elsewhere pointed out, is lavishly pro- 
vided from many inexhaustible sources. When stimulated 
by light, therefore, plants are always at work upon the 
carbonic acid of the air, decomposing it into carbon, with 
which they build up their tissues, and into oxygen, which 
they set free into the atmosphere. 

It is ever the thrifty plan of Providence to combine the 
performance of the functions of one order of living things 
with the necessary wants of another ; and thus all parts 
of the animated world are linked together by the benefi- 
cial interchange of good offices. Not for their own advan- 
tage only do plants pick out the carbon from the atmos- 
phere ) for in setting the oxygen at liberty they purify the 
air and render an essential service to the whole animal 
, world. The carbonic acid which the plants so eagerly 
imbibe is a poison so deadly to air-breathing animals that 
a very few inspirations of it, in a concentrated state, are 
sufficient to destroy human life ; while an atmosphere con- 
taining even so small a proportion as ten per cent, would 
be fatal if used in ordinary respiration. Yet, as is else- 
where pointed out, the air is being continually flooded 
wdth this poison. It is given off abundantly from the 
lungs of man and all other " air-breathers." Volumes of 
it are poured into the air during the combustion of sub- 



Green Things upon the Earth, 277 

stances used for light and fuel. Occasionally it streams 
from cracks in the earth, especially in volcanic countries, 
and it is continually rising from certain mineral waters. 
It is, therefore, most obvious that had no provision been 
made for removing the poison, the accumulation of car- 
bonic acid resulting from all those sources would have 
gradually contaminated the air to an extent incompatible 
with life. But the Great Architect has so admirably con- 
stituted the living world that what would be death to ani- 
mals is life to plants, and that what we get rid of as a 
poison, they necessarily seize as food, while by that very 
act they restore to us the atmosphere in healthy purity. 
Thus the alternate conversion goes on in an endless chain. 
Nothing is lost or created in vain ; for the waste and ref- 
use of one kingdom becomes the life of the other. 

Although oxygen is liberated by plants during the day, 
the process is of course invisible when it is performed in 
the air. It is different with aquatic plants, for as they 
necessarily operate on the carbonic acid gas diffused 
through the water, the bubbles of oxygen when liberated 
are seen rising to the surface. The process, indeed, forms 
one of the attractions of the vivarium, in which the plants 
are studded all over with myriads of bright air-bells. On 
a larger scale the same operation may be observed going 
on, while the sun shines, in every pond and brook in 
whose waters vegetation is found. In every one of these 
bells there is a minute contribution toward the purity of 
the atmosphere ; and the resulting aggregate of oxygen 
obtained from all the plants in the world is just sufficient 
to counteract the action of the various causes constantly 
tending to deteriorate it. Thus no plant on which the 
sun shines — whether it flourish on the surface of the 
earth or under the water — exists in idleness or passes a 
useless life. All work for Nature in their appointed way. 

Under certain circumstances, and more especially when 
the air is moist, leaves absorb much invisible vapor and 



278 Green Things upon the Earth, 

grow rapidly. Some plants, even when they are removed 
from the ground and hung up in the conservatory, absorb 
enough of carbon and water to keep themselves in a tol- 
erably healthy state j but the chief supply of moisture is 
taken in from the ground. The excess that is absorbed is 
transpired by the leaves, and thus the juices of the plant 
are maintained at the healthy degree of concentration. 
In hot weather the balance between the absorption and 
transpiration of water is destroyed ; and as more water 
passes off than comes in, plant-life languishes and droops. 
At the close of a long sultry day in July there is an enjoy- 
ment to be derived from watering plants, which in a certain 
far-off way reminds us of giving drink to a thirsty man. 
It is one of those pleasing labors which we do not like to 
see thrown away upon any body who finds nothing in them 
but the fatigue. Is it extravagance to say that our sympa- 
thy is touched when we mark the signs of suffering which 
our favorites so naturally express .'' and is it not difficult 
to divest ourselves of the impression that plants enjoy the 
refreshing shower in some mysterious way of their own ? 
Never do they fail to repay the little service with ready 
gratitude. Scarcely have the drops fallen before they 
begin to raise their drooping heads, and to signal their 
thanks to us out of every stiffening leaf and flower. Their 
whole being freshens and breathes, expands, inhales, ex- 
hales. Their air of flaccid languor disappears as if by 
magic, and they charm us once more by their look of ren- 
ovated vigor. 

There is a grassy-looking weed that grows among the 
sand near the sea-shore. Thousands in their rambles pass 
it by unheeded, or notice it only as an unattractive em- 
blem of sterility. It is so coarse in texture that even 
hardy cattle turn from it with disdain. Yet this sea-reed, 
Arundo arenaria, as it is called, performs such signal ser- 
vice to man that its presence in this particular situation 
cannot be deemed less than providential. Many low- 



Green Things upon the Earth. 279 

lying coast-lands require to be defended not only from the 
sea, but also from the sand cast ashore by the waves. 
This loose sand gradually accumulates, is driven hither 
and thither by every gale of wind, and has a tendency to 
encroach upon the fertile fields, and convert them into 
desert wastes. The threatened danger is averted by this 
humble plant, and the slightest consideration of its habits 
demonstrates that it was specially created for the purpose. 
While most plants instinctively seek out the richest soils, 
this one prefers the driest sands. The "gritty" storms 
so often raging around, which would overwhelm or de- 
stroy the tender organization of other plants, beat harm- 
lessly against the silicious coverings of this hardy reed. 
In striking its roots into the sand it binds the loose par- 
ticles together ; and, as its sapless-looking tufts appear 
above the surface, they arrest the stony current as it is 
driven along by the wind, and consolidate it into little 
mounds. In process of time these are piled up into the 
well-known hillocks by the growth and decay of countless 
generations of tufts. Such sand-hills are common in va- 
rious parts of Britain where the coast is low ; but they are 
seen on a more extensive scale in the rugged " dunes " 
which stretch in almost endless succession along the 
shores of Holland. Not only do they intercept the dev- 
astating progress of the sand, but they likewise form the 
stoutest bulwark against the encroachments of the sea. 

The common broom has long been employed in the 
Landes of Aquitania as a means of binding the low-lying 
tracts of sand, and preparing them for the growth of pine- 
forests. Professor Piazzi Smith informs us that there is a 
kind of mountain-broom which grows on the sterile, shift- 
ing lava-sands of the Peak of Teneriffe, more than a ver- 
tical mile above the level of the sea. " How wonderful," 
he eloquently remarks, " the adaptations of Nature to the 
necessities of various regions ! For here, where the cease- 
less motion of the sliding particles composing a hill's sides 



28o Green Things ttpon the Earth, 

destroys every other living thing ; where the aridity of the 
soil during many months is only surpassed by the aridity 
of the air, which is drier than that of the Sahara, Nature 
has produced a plant that on the mere remembrance of 
winter rain long since evaporated, can furnish no con- 
temptible supply of wood ; and with its richly stored white 
flowers, arranged in close rows along its smaller branches, 
affords illimitable honey-making materials to all the bees 
of the country." 

There is, perhaps, no better way of estimating the value 
of God's gifts than by trying to realize what the world 
would have been without them. Conceive the variety of 
uses to which wood is daily applied, and for which no 
other substitute could be found. There is, in fact, hardly 
a work of construction that goes on anywhere into which 
wood does not almost necessarily enter. The growing 
employment of its rival, — or rather let us with thankful- 
ness say its twin-blessing, — iron, serves happily to econ- 
omize the world's decreasing stores of wood, but it does 
not detract from the value of this inestimable gift. 

The most serviceable properties of wood, hardness and 
strength, have been secured by the peculiar way in which 
it has been ordained that wood should grow. If the myr- 
iads of sap-vessels and cells contained in the tree had 
been equally dispersed through its whole thickness, the 
condition of the timber would necessarily have been soft 
and prone to rot, and the formation of that dry, hard, and 
central part, which from its soundness we call the heart- 
wood, would have been prevented. Nature, therefore, with 
the intent of making her work more useful to man, has 
collected the chief channels of the sap immediately under 
the bark. It is here that the layer of mucilaginous cells 
and vessels is found, to which the term cambium is given. 
Here is the chief laboratory of the tree, and here the prin- 
cipal formative operations are carried on. Thus, on the 
outer side of the cambium the cells are periodically laid 



Green Things upon the Earth, 281 

in the order which quaUfies them in due time to assume 
the functions of the bark j while, on the inner side of the 
layer, the cells are arranged so as to form new wood. The 
annual time of wood-manufacture corresponds to the season 
of the year during which the circulation of the sap is 
active ; and it stops in winter when the flow of the sap has 
been reduced to the lowest degree compatible with the 
preservation of life. Every year's increase is a distinct 
and separate contribution to the thickness of the tree, and 
is represented ever afterward by one of those " concentric 
rings " with which all are familiar in cross sections of the 
stem. From their mode of formation, therefore, each con- 
centric ring indicates a period of one year, and the entire 
number forms one of the most reliable data from which 
the age of the tree may be calculated. At the same time 
this rule does not apply under all circumstances. In trees 
that are evergreen, for example, the circles are indistinct, 
because, as the leaves are always present, the interruption 
to the circulation of the sap, on which the line of separa- 
tion between the circles depends, does not at any season 
occur in so marked a manner as in trees that are decidu- 
ous. In some equatorial countries with peculiar climates 
there are, it is said, several distinct periods of growth fol- 
lowed by intervals of repose during every year. It has 
been asserted that, in certain parts of tropical America, 
rings in trees are sometimes to be found for every month 
in the year. 

From the way in which the wood-mass* of the tree is 
thus built up year after year in regular " courses," it fol- 
lows that the worst, or at least the softest timber, is found 
towards the outside of the trunk. Within this layer, and 
more especially as the centre is approached, the hardness 
of the wood increases, because no new growth is being 
carried on there, and because the old lignite cells, which 
were comparatively soft when originally deposited, have in 
the course of years gradually become blocked up, solidified, 



282 Green Things upon the Earth. 

and hardened by the thickening of their walls. On this 
account the timber of the tree has been divided into the 
soft, external sap-wood, or alburnum, and the hard, internal 
heart-wood, or duramen. Between these two parts of the 
tree the color is often very conspicuous. As familiar ex- 
amples may be mentioned the well-known heart-wood of 
the ebony and the laburnum. Besides these the black- 
walnut is remarkable for its dark-brown centre. In the 
barberry the heart-wood is yellow ; in some kinds of cedar 
it is purplish red, and in the guaiacum-tree, or lignum 
vitae, it is greenish. When we reflect that, in the roots of 
trees, the sap-vessels are distributed through the whole 
substance, making the wood soft and useless ; while, in 
the stem, this order has been changed, and they have been 
collected under the bark, by which means the chief bulk 
of the timber remains hard and serviceable, it is impossible 
not to perceive that there is here the clearest evidence of 
that beneficent planning to satisfy our wants in which we 
recognize the hand of our Heavenly Father. 

One of the most mysterious properties of plants is that 
of regulating their temperature. The twigs of the tree are 
not frozen through in winter, neither does their tempera- 
ture mount up in summer in proportion to the external 
heat. Their vitality protects them equally from both ex- 
tremes. The bark, moreover, with its loose texture and 
included air, is a bad conductor, and forms, as it were, a 
great-coat in which the plant is wrapped up. Many trees 
perish from ct>ld when stripped of their bark. Winter 
berries differ in their power of resisting cold. White of 
Selborne tells us that the haws are spoilt by the first sharp 
frost, while ivy-berries do not seem to freeze, but " afford 
a noble and providential supply of food to birds in winter 
and spring." The surface evaporation in summer pro- 
duces, no doubt, a certain amount of freshness in the 
leaves, and we know how cool they feel even in hot days. 
But evaporation does not explain this circumstance in 



Gj^een Things upon the Earth, 283 

regard to many kinds of fruit which are encased in an 
envelope of closest texture through which evaporation is 
difficult if not impossible. The coolness of fruit in hot 
climates is remarkable. Dr. Hooker relates that the juice 
of the milky Mudar, growing by the side of the Ganges, 
was found to have a temperature of 72° Fahrenheit, while 
the damp sand on which it flourished was scorching in a 
heat that reached from 90° to 104°. But, in order to 
enjoy the coolness of tropical fruit in perfection, it must 
be eaten soon after it has been gathered. With the ex- 
tinction of life its power to resist heat ceases also, and by 
falling under the same laws as other dead matters, it soon 
acquires their temperature. In our survey of the " green 
things upon the earth " let us ever gratefully remember the 
means with which they providentially supply us for com- 
bating most of the diseases to which flesh is heir. Herbs 
possessing medicinal virtues are, like mineral waters, 
widely distributed over the globe. The most valuable 
drugs may, perhaps, be considered as limited more espe- 
cially to tropical countries, where the stimuli of light and 
heat, being at their highest power, develop in perfection 
the various vegetable principles ; but commerce has abun- 
dantly placed most of them within our reach. Yet even 
to countries situated in higher latitudes Providence has 
been bountiful. As for ourselves, it may be said that, 
were the supply of foreign drugs to fail, we could still 
obtain from our native plants a " materia medica " of the 
utmost value. Time was when every abbey and monastery 
in the land had its " physic garden " and its stores of 
simples ; and when the priest, on whose skill the whole 
district was dependent, searched the woods and meadows 
in quest of the herbs with which he was to assuage suf- 
fering. 

As autumn draws on, the leaves begin to prepare for a 
new sphere of usefulness ; for as yet they have been pass- 
ing through one phase only of their mission in Nature's 



284 Green Things upon the Earth, 

economy. Yet what a life of beneficent activity has been 
theirs since they issued from the bud in spring ! First, let 
us thankfully acknowledge how much they have contrib- 
uted by their beauty to gladden the aspect of the earth. 
They have moderated evaporation from the soil, and 
shielded it from excessive heat and cold. Under the 
thick foliage cattle have enjoyed a welcome shelter from 
sun and storm, and many a timid creature has found there 
a safe refuge against pursuing enemies. Every single leaf 
has done its part in the work of perfecting the sap of the 
plant on which it lived. Leaves have purified the atmos- 
phere which was contaminated, and have prepared it anew 
for the respiration of the animal world. But now " the 
turn of the year " is upon them. Their pleasing tints of 
green are passing into warning shades of red and yellow. 
The flow of sap grows languid in their veins, and the sharp 
night frosts shrivel and crisp them up. The melancholy 
" fall " is at hand. The vitality of the shed foliage is gone, 
and it is about to be made subject to the action of another 
Power of the Lord. Upheld no longer by life, the leaves 
must yield themselves, like the other dead matter around, 
to the inexorable laws of chemistry. Wind and weather 
will soon break up their delicate texture, until, reduced at 
length to mold, they will mix with and enrich the soil, and 
serve in their turn as food for other plants. Not a leaf 
will be lost, for each will contribute something toward the 
general good. Thus amid the boundless profusion of 
Nature economy is ever the ruling law. The fragments 
are gathered, and nothing is wasted. Bountifulness and 
thrift go hand in hand. 

Great is the enjoyment associated with the hours spent 
among the " green things of the earth," when every sense 
we possess was gratified in its turn. There was beauty for 
the eye, perfumes floated in the air, and sounds that were 
sweet and fascinating broke pleasingly upon the ear. The 
treat was one we could not prize too highly, for our Father 



Green Things upon the Earth, 285 

himself spread it out before us for our enjoyment. Nature 
might have been made dull, colorless, silent, and ugly, or 
we might have been formed without the power to appreci- 
ate it ; but the Creator has made it lovely, and has given 
us minds to see and feel its loveliness. Shall we not, then, 
cherish the gift t Can we for a moment doubt that if we 
neglect- or despise it we are to a certain extent frustrating 
the purpose for which it was bestowed ? 

Our Lord Himself illustrated many of his precepts by 
examples derived from the vegetable kingdom. The lilies, 
the wheat and the tares, and the grain of mustard-seed, are 
all associated in our minds with His teaching. Moral 
lessons — calls to duty — causes for thankfulness — rea- 
sons for praise — the desire to adore, flow gently in upon 
our thoughtful contemplations in field and forest. In sur- 
veying " the green things upon the earth " we see how un- 
speakably our Father has blessed and cared for us. We 
look and analyze, we trace, calculate, and study the All- 
merciful and the All-wise, and our hearts are filled to over- 
flowing with "wonder, love, and praise." 

" Let all Thy works praise Thee, O Lord," or, as it mighl 
be expressed, Let Thy children, inspired by the contempla- 
tion of Thy works, praise Thee, as the Psalmist exhorts, 
"with understanding." Viewed in this light the plantal 
world is no longer silent, but justifies through us the invo- 
cation of the Benedicite. It speaks in a language almost 
infinitely varied, but the lofty theme it proclaims is evei 
the same. Like the " voices of the stars," the green things 
upon the earth are truly a fair Hymn of Praise, written all 
over the land, not in words, but in living characters of 
beauty. May we not also regard them as smiling moni- 
tors placed everywhere around our path to whisper to us 
thoughts of God's greatness and love ? 

Delight thou in the Lord ; and He shall give thee thy heart's desire. — 

Ps. xxxvii. 



#• 






BEASTS AND CATTLE. 




O all ye Beasts and Cattle^ bless ye the Lord: praise Him^ and 
magnify Him for enjer, 

F all the scientific pursuits that can form the ob- 
ject of man's study, that of Natural History is, 
after Astronomy perhaps, the most fascinating. 
Its class-room is the fair field of Nature, its facts charm us 
by their intrinsic interest, and its revelations not only con- 
tribute to our enjoyment, but, by exhibiting the perfection 
with which every creature has been constructed with refer- 
ence to its way of life, lead our thoughts adoringly upward 
to the Creator. No pursuit forms a more healthy relaxa- 
tion for the body, or a better training for the mind. It 
exercises memory, patience, judgment, and reason ; it culti- 
vates the habit of observation, and confers a taste "for order 
and exactness. The frequent contemplation of the har- 
mony, wisdom, and beneficence therein displayed surely 
accomplishes an improving effect upon the mind. If, in- 
deed. Natural History were to be followed for its own sake 
merely, and if we were to rest satisfied with intelligently 
admiring its many pleasing marvels, its highest purpose 
would be overlooked, and it would lack its crowning value. 
Nowhere is God's beneficent consideration for man's 
wants more conspicuously seen than in the class of ani- 
mals to which " Beasts and Cattle " belong. In the nat- 
ural exercise of that dominion over them with which we 
have been intrusted, we derive from them one of our most 
important supplies of food. There is, indeed, scarcely 
any thing entering into the structure of cattle which does 



Beasts and Cattle. 287 

not, directly or indirectly, minister to man's comfort. 
Their hides form the best protection to the feet, and are 
applied to a thousand useful purposes besides ; we get glue 
and parchment from them ; out of their horns are made a 
variety of serviceable articles ; and we grind down their 
bones to fertilize the fields. Nor are they less valuable 
gifts while living, and the exactness with which they re- 
spond to many of the most obvious requirements of man 
cannot be regarded otherwise than as providential. Man 
needed an assistant to carry his burdens, to work for him 
in the fields, to bear him swiftly on his journeys — and 
finds that assistant in the horse. It is unnecessary to 
pause here, to point out the thousand other ways in which 
the horse is serviceable to man, or how much would have 
been lost to the comfort of life had this single creation 
been omitted. Either naturally, or under the fostering 
care of man, the horse is to be found in almost every land 
outside the polar circles. Yet there are a few spots in the 
world, like the Arabian desert, for which the horse is un- 
fitted, and for which special requirements are necessary — 
so God created the camel. 

In no animal are the evidences of design more con- 
spicuous than in the camel. In it we see the good quali- 
ties of the horse, as it were, supplemented, and various 
structures modified, with the obvious intention of adapt- 
ing it to the special work it has to perform. Not only is 
the " ship of the desert " docile and strong to qualify it to 
be a beast of burden, but its feet are cushioned with elastic 
and expansile pads, which spread out into broad flat sur- 
faces when pressed on by the weight of the body. It is 
evident that the camel has thus been shod in order that it 
might stalk across the loose sand without sinking into it. 
Nor is it constructed internally with less careful reference 
to the special nature of its work. One great danger 
which animals incur in crossing the desert arises from the 
want of water \ but the camel carries its own supply in a 



288 Beasts and Cattle, 

sort of internal tank. Thus a part of its complex stomach 
is set rouncl with deep cells or sacs — little barrels, they 
might be called — which are filled with water as opportuni- 
ties may occur, and they are then by the constriction of 
their orifices shut off from communication with the rest of 
the cavity. When the camel requires to draw upon this 
store the orifices are relaxed, and the cell compressed so 
as to empty out the water. By means of this special con- 
triv^ance the camel can journey in the desert several days 
without drinking even in sultry weather. Its adaptation 
to its work has been further perfected by the remarkable 
acuteness of the sense of smell, by which it is said to scent 
the presence of water at the distance of half a league. 
Its power of subsisting on such hardy fare as the coarse 
herbage of the desert, and the leaves and twigs of trees 
occasionally met with in the oases, as well as the sharp, 
strong teeth fitted for cutting and grinding them, are ad- 
ditional proofs of wise design. As no organ is more apt 
to suffer from the heat and glare of the sand than the eye, 
the camel has prominent, overhanging eyebrows, and this 
light-shield is made still more perfect by long thick eye- 
lashes. During the wild tumult of the simoom every thing 
living tries to keep out the clouds of hot dust that are 
borne along by the wind. On this account the nostril of 
the camel is not wide and patent, as in the horse, but a 
mere slit, which can be firmly closed at will as with a lid. 

In a certain sense the camel may be said to carry with 
it a supply of meat as well as drink, for the hump on its 
back is chiefly composed of fat stored up in time of abun- 
dance to be drawn upon in time of scarcity. In the 
course of long journeys, if food be wanted, the hump 
wears away, and it requires a course of good feeding be- 
fore it is restored. 

In loading the camel it is made to kneel down to facili- 
tate the operation, and in order that its knees may not 
suffer from rubbing or pressure, they are naturally de- 



Beasts and Cattle, 289 

fended by callous pads placed where the chief pressure is 
sustained. These pads, as well as another situated on the 
chest, serve for the camel to rest upon in reposing. 

An animal very analogous to the camel is seen in the 
llama of the Andes ; but a point of difference in their 
structure may be here noticed, as it has an obvious relation 
to the field of labor designed for each. The camel travels 
over the flat, loose sand, and has a broad expanded foot ; 
but the llama is intended to climb the steep mountain 
slopes, and is furnished with a cleft hoof, the ends of 
which are prolonged into a kind of hook or claw, by which 
its foot-hold is made more certain. 

In tropical countries, where excessive heat in some 
measure disqualifies man for severe exertion, and where 
more aid in performing the heavier parts of labor is re- 
quired, he finds an invaluable servant in the docile ele- 
phant. Whole volumes have, ere now, been written to 
illustrate the sagacity and usefulness of this animal. His 
structure, too, offers many points of admirable contrivance, 
into which want of space prevents us from now entering. 

In northern countries, beyond the natural limits of horse 
and donkey, a substitute was needed which might carry on 
the work of transport, and yet live amid the snows on the 
roughest fare. The elk and, more especially, the reindeer 
fill up the gap, and place their strength and fleetness at 
the service of man. The range of the reindeer is very 
extensive. From the northern parts of Sweden and Nor- 
way it extends deep into the polar regions, and this animal 
is said to flourish in perfection among the inhospitable 
regions of Spitzbergen. Its very appetite and powers of 
digestion are molded on the ^ productions of the home 
which Nature has given to it. Though the climate is un- 
favorable to grass and cereals, many of the forest-trees, 
and much even of the most barren land, are abundantly 
covered with lichens, of which the animal is fond. A Lap 

who is fortunate enough to possess plenty of ground whit- 
19 



290 Beasts and Cattle, 

ened over with lichen, surveys it with feelings akin to 
those with which a farmer might regard his promising 
fields of wheat or barley. He regulates his movements 
by the wants and likings of his precious reindeer. In win- 
ter, it lives amid the rough shelter of the woods : in sum- 
mer, when the mosquito drives the herd from the forests, 
he repairs with it to the higher grounds, where it finds 
food and coolness. Its acute sense of smell guides it to 
where the lichen grows, where it " routs like swine," or 
clears away the snow with its fore-feet. In case of need 
Nature has armed the reindeer's head for a part of the 
year with a shovel and a pick conveniently placed just 
over their muzzle. No one can look upon those brow 
antlers, of which at least one is flattened out like a spade 
and tipped with horn almost as hard as ivory, without the 
conviction that they were designed for this special pur- 
pose. 

The hardy Laplander's riches centre in his reindeer. It 
is his beast of burden, and his carriage-horse. Seated in 
his sledge he traverses long journeys with great rapidity. 
A distance of 150 miles in 19 hours is not considered 
a great feat, and many most marvelous exploits are re- 
corded. The reindeer supplies his owner with milk and 
cheese for the winter, and with an ever-ready store of veni- 
son. Like cattle elsewhere, every thing about this animal 
is of use. The hide makes shoes and the warmest of 
winter wraps. The skin of an allied animal, the cariboo 
of North America, supplies a cloak so warm that it en- 
ables its wearer to defy with safety the rigor of an Arctic 
night. Consistently with the established order of things 
the Laplander could not have horses or cows, wheat or 
hay ; but Providence has given him a kind of " Cattle " 
substitute, which in itself supplies all his requirements, and 
has combined with this gift the growth of a hardy lichen 
which is better adapted for its food than the finest hay. 

Man needed, moreover, a confidential friend to guard 



Beasts and Cattle, 291 

his house and property, to lighten his labors by sagacious 
activity in tending flocks and herds, and to help him by 
instinct and fleetness in the chase. Such a friend is found 
in the dog, the most loyal and trusty of the brute creation. 
For man's sake the dog has forsaken its gregarious in- 
stincts, and the company of its fellows, in order to become 
his attached servant and companion. The dog is brave, 
intelligent, honest, unselfish, and submissive. The camel 
is a substitute for the horse, and the reindeer is in some 
degree a substitute for both ; but nowhere on earth could 
a fitting substitute be found for the faithful dog. Beyond 
the limits of the reindeer the Esquimau is carried swiftly 
and safely in his sledge over the frozen seas of Greenland 
by the aid of his team of dogs, and many a life is saved 
by their untiring exertion. Thus the geographical distri- 
bution of this " good gift " has been made almost univer- 
sal, and from the Equator to Kamschatka the ubiquitous 
dog is found doing his appointed work. 

Not only are the animals of polar regions wrapped up 
in thickest fur, but they are generally clad in white — a 
color which economizes the internal heat by diminishing 
radiation from the surface. Many animals in Northern 
countries, as ptarmigan and hares, which are of a speckly 
or bluish color during the summer months, change more 
or less to white in winter, and for the same reason. Ani- 
mals living in polar climates are remarkable for the abun- 
dance of their fat, which acts as a blanket to keep them 
warm when living, and, when killed in the chase, affords 
large supplies of carbonaceous food to the natives to main- 
tain the needful temperature of the body in winter by 
being burnt in the lungs. These are points with which 
most persons are familiar, but they illustrate very strik- 
ingly how, even in minute matters, the peculiarities of 
animals are adjusted and designed according to the neces- 
sities of their position, and with reference to the special 
wants of mankind around them. 



292 Beasts and Cattle. 

How widely, also, another of God's best gifts — the 
sheep — has been distributed over the world, partly by the 
hand of Nature, partly through the agency of man. The 
wool which it supplies so abundantly for clothing takes 
equal rank with flax and cotton. Originally coarse and 
harsh, it has by degrees been brought to its present per- 
fection by the persevering skill and industry of man. The 
wool of neglected flocks soon degenerates, and would ul- 
timately resume the coarseness of the rough-haired, prim- 
itive wild sheep of Siberia. 

When our colonists first went to New South Wales it 
was remarked that no representative of the tribe of oxen 
was to be seen. Pastures were there of the richest kind 
and of almost unlimited extent, but in so far as cattle 
were concerned these resources appeared thrown away. 
A little further observation, however, seemed to indicate 
in this anomaly a wise and benevolent design. The cli- 
mate in many parts of Australia is peculiar, and subject to 
droughts of such severity as to dry up the rivers, as well 
as the deep natural water-tanks hollowed out in their 
course. At other times the withered, tinder-like grass 
takes fire, and the conflagration rapidly spreads itself over 
extensive districts. Let us imagine what would most 
probably have occurred in such a case had there been 
cows and calves on these pasture grounds. The dams 
might perhaps have escaped by abandoning their young ; 
but the latter, not having the strength to migrate, would 
have been overtaken by swift destruction. Instead of 
oxen, the settlers found an animal of a different and pecul- 
iar type in possession of these prairies, which seemed as 
if it had been designed to cope with the difficulties of the 
climate. The Kangaroo has locomotive powers very su- 
perior to the cow, but its distinguishing feature is the 
marsupial pouch destined for the reception and preserva- 
tion of its young. In case of necessity these could take 
refuge in the pouch, and, holding on firml}^ with their 



Beasts and Cattle, 293 

mouths, could be safely transported by the mother to a 
place of greater abundance or of safety. But when civ- 
ilized man appears upon the scene, a new page is opened 
in the design of Providence. The mission of the Kanga- 
roo is drawing to a close, and it must give way to more 
valuable tenants. An intelligence is now on the spot which 
can in a great measure overcome the difficulties of the 
climate. The farmer can dig tanks in which the water 
will not easily dry up : he can in some measure circum- 
scribe the conflagration ; in time of drought he can lead 
the cattle to streams by whose banks green herbage is 
still to be found ; and he can lay up stores of hay and 
other provisions against the winter's scarcity. Had cattle 
been previously introduced, they might often have been 
exposed even to worse tortures than those which Hum- 
boldt describes as overtaking the wild cattle of South 
America in seasons of inundation. 

The buffalo and the bison afford striking examples of 
the way in which the normal structure of an animal is 
often materially modified in accordance with necessities 
arising from the physical character of the country it in- 
habits. In dry districts their feet are compact and have 
comparatively narrow hoofs ; but in swampy districts, and 
by the side of low marshy rivers, this kind of hocjf would 
be a serious defect. In process of time, therefore, it flat- 
tens and expands considerably, so as to counteract the 
tendency to sink into the mud. 

In tropical countries the elephant has got a skin which 
is nearly destitute of hair. The climate supplies the ne- 
cessary amount of warmth. But in the extinct Siberian 
elephant or mammoth which lived upon the verge of the 
ice, the skin was doubly covered with a thick, short fur, 
and with long hair. This structure is clearly shown in the 
famous specimen obtained from the ice of- the river Lena, 
and of which the skeleton is preserved at St. Petersburg. 
A piece of skin from the same animal is likewise exhibited 
in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. 



294 Beasts and Cattle, 

We do not always judge wild animals fairly. We are 
apt to regard their savage nature as almost a blot in the 
plan of creation, and we feel puzzled in our attempts to 
reconcile it with universal benevolence. Ferocity in such 
animals is invariably the result of a structure which has 
been carefully designed for a good purpose, and is by no 
means an indication of innate cruelty. When considered 
in relation to their obvious niission of checking such an 
increase of animals as would be fatal to the general wel- 
fare, and with reference to their necessary mode of living, 
this ferocity, so far from tending to augment suffering, tends 
directly to diminish it. The habits of an animal may be 
said to depend upon the shape of its teeth, or, to speak 
more correctly, both have been consistently adjusted to 
each other. If we examine the mouth of a tiger or hyena, 
nothing is more clear than that it is designed to seize and 
rend a living prey. Now the more ferocious animals are, 
the more effectively they will use their teeth, and the sooner 
will death relieve their victims from suffering ; but had 
such teeth been engrafted upon a milder nature, the prey 
might have been killed in a way that would have been 
slow torture. Hence there is designed mercy in their 
savageness, and Nature in putting those fearful weapons 
into th^r mouths has aimed at shortening the pang of 
dying. Not forgetful of the evil which the unrestrained 
exercise of such power for destruction might bring upon 
weaker animals, the propensity to kill has generally been 
subordinated to the calls of hunger. A lion or a boa con- 
strictor reposes peaceably as soon as its appetite has been 
appeased ; a lion-tamer is careful not to enter the den until 
the half-subdued monsters have been fed ; and even a 
pike, whose disposition has been more especially branded 
with cruelty, seems to inspire little terror among surround- 
ing fishes as soon as he is gorged. 

For wanton cruelty we must go, alas ! to civilized life. 
It is probably unknown among animals in a wild state, 



Beasts and Cattle. 295 

although, in carrying out certain purposes of Providence, 
all the appearances of cruelty are sometimes assumed. 
To take an instance from the class of insects : — what at 
first sight appears more repulsively cruel than the wholesale 
slaughter which goes on in a wasp's nest at the approach 
of winter ? Wasps labor under a bad character, but, what- 
ever their failings may be, nobody ever accused them of 
want of tenderness for their offspring. They tend the 
cells where the eggs are hatched, and they nurse the new- 
born grubs with a devotion quite equal to that displayed 
by their more esteemed neighbors the bees. Yet no 
sooner does the first sharp pinch of frost nip them in the 
autumn, than their whole nature undergoes a change. 
Their love, by some mysterious impulse of instinct, is 
then converted into fury, and, falling on the young brood 
of the nest, they ruthlessly destroy them all. But, we 
may ask, if these grubs had been spared, would their fate 
have been improved ? The summer mission of the wasps 
was ended, food was getting scarce, and starvation was in 
immediate prospect, so Nature sent the voracious grubs a 
speedy death, instead of a lingering torture. Few of the 
executioners, however, long survive the desolation of their 
home, and in the extinction of both man may recognize a 
mercy to himself The progeny of a single wasp in spring 
mounts up to 20,000 or 30,000 before the end of autumn, 
and if most of these were to survive the winter, the spe- 
cies would increase at a rate which would be incompat- 
ible with man's comfort, if not with his existence. What 
food is there which he would have been able to preserve 
from their ravages ? 

His mercy is over all His works. — Ps. cxlv. 

Among the influences most injurious to the health of 
man are the emanations arising from animal and vegeta- 
ble substances in a state of decay. To mitigate this evil, 
we enforce our sanatory laws, we build sewers, we fumi- 



296 Beasts and Cattle. 

gate and whitewash. But there are nooks which brushes 
cannot reach, and our war with the inevitable results of 
decomposition would have been unsuccessful had not 
Nature herself come to the rescue with her powerful aids. 
There are winds which search our streets and courts, and 
dissipate many a gathering animal poison wherein pesti- 
lence is secretly breeding ; there are rains which wash our 
walls, scour our ways, and flush our sewers, and float away 
the seeds of disease. In polar regions, where life is com- 
paratively scarce, and decomposition is limited to the brief 
interval of summer, nothing is needed in a general way to 
purify the air. But in tropical climates, where life teems 
and heat and moisture stimulate decomposition, scaven- 
gers are especially needed ; and while man has done least, 
Nature has there done most, to carry on the necessary 
work. Without Nature's aid many a village in hot cli- 
mates would scarcely be habitable. Some Indian towns 
have no other scavengers than the wild beasts which lurk 
in neighboring jungles during the day, and carry away all 
the offal of the place in nightly razzias. Every body has 
heard of the snarling, howling, mangy mongrels of Stam- 
boul and other Eastern towns, which range through the 
streets at night, and purify the tainted air by snapping up 
the animal refuse of the town. Further to the south the 
hyena and other kindred animals prowl round the lone 
African village, waiting for the time when the inhabitants 
shall have retired to rest, in order that they may venture 
within the precincts and feed on any garbage they may 
find. Judging by the extent of the machinery employed 
and the imperious instincts with which, to secure perform- 
ance, this service has been combined, there can hardly 
be any more important work within the circle of the 
world's economy. From man himself downward every 
class of animals and all plants take their appointed share 
of labor in keeping Nature's common household clean and 
pure. According to the kind of work to be done, Provi- 



Beasts and Cattle, 297 

dence appoints with unerring wisdom the kind of work- 
man to be employed. 

With all her boundless variety Nature is the most con- 
sistent of artificers, and so strict is the relation subsisting 
between the various organs of the body, that from a single 
tooth or other bone can often be inferred the chief points 
connected with the habits and structure of the animal to 
which it belonged. In this manner Cuvier, by his knowl- 
edge of Comparative Anatomy, was able to reconstruct 
with approximative accuracy many fossil animals of which 
mere fragments only had been preserved in the strata of 
the rocks ; and his system has been followed up with suc- 
cess by Professor Owen and others. Cuvier tells us that 
there is an extreme pleasure to be found in thus tracing 
the structural harmonies established between the different 
parts of animals, and in noting how one organ entails an- 
other. " None of these parts can change without the 
whole changing ; and consequently each of them, sepa- 
rately considered, points out and marks all the others." 

In many cases animals have been sent into the world 
for certain obvious purposes, and it is instructive to note 
the perfect way in which they are fitted for their task. It 
is the highly necessary mission of the Ant-eater of South 
America to keep within bounds the enormous profusion of 
that form of life by destroying myriads of ants as food. It 
is, in the first place, armed with strong claws to tear up 
the houses or earth-galleries in which the ants live. Hav- 
ing disinterred its active prey, how are the ants to be 
seized t An ordinary mouth would be of little use, but 
Nature has provided the animal with a prodigiously long 
tongue, which it smears over with a viscid, adhesive 
mucus, derived from enormously developed glands sur- 
rounding the throat, and it then thrusts in this fatal trap 
among the little insects. The ants adhere in thousands, 
and are thus conveyed into the mouth with marvelous 
rapidity. The next point is that the ants should be 



298 Beasts and Cattle. 

crushed ; for the hard, parchment-like covering in which 
they are encased offers great resistance to the gastric 
juice. The mouth is ill adapted for the purpose ; for it 
is, in fact, little else than a tubular case for the long 
tongue. In the next place, it is destitute of teeth ; and, 
indeed, teeth would have formed far too powerful a mill 
for such tender food, while many of the active little creat- 
ures would certainly have escaped from the mouth during 
mastication. The crushing, therefore, goes on in the 
stomach -, and, as Owen has expressed it, the Ant-eater 
has borrowed the gizzard of a fowl for the purpose. In 
this muscular stomach or gizzard, therefore, myriads of 
ants are reduced to a pulp, out of which their arch-enemy 
extracts abundant nourishment. How clear the evidence 
of the special design with which claws, tongue, glands, 
mouth, and stomach are mutually and in a very peculiar 
manner adapted to each other ! 

A whole series of structural adaptations is displayed in 
the Aye-aye, a quadrumanous, or four-handed, animal 
found in Australia. It is nocturnal in its habits, therefore 
the pupil of the eye is large to admit as much light to the 
retina as possible. The organ of hearing is also greatly 
developed, for the purpose of enabling it to detect the 
scraping operations of its favorite food, which is a kind 
of grub that bores and burrows in trees. Having found 
the spot under which the grub is at work, it chisels down 
upon it by means of strong jaws and teeth specially con- 
structed for the purpose. But no sooner does the grub 
find its dwelling broken into than it retreats to the other 
end of its burrow; and all the labor of the Aye-aye 
would probably have been in vain, had not Nature antici- 
pated this difficulty by bestowing on it a pecuiliar and 
most odd-looking contrivance in the shape of an enor- 
mously prolonged slender middle finger having a hook at 
the end, with which it probes into the recesses of the bur- 
row and extracts the impaled grub. 



Beasts and Cattle, 299 

In ancient Bible times herds and flocks constituted the 
riches of the wealthy. Jabal was " the father of such as 
dwell in tents and of such as have cattle." A great herds- 
man was equivalent to a great proprietor, and he was 
qualified for the highest offices. Abraham and Lot pos- 
sessed much wealth of this kind, and they separated be- 
cause it was difficult to find sufficient pasture for their 
united herds. Moses was a shepherd after his flight from 
Egypt, while he tended the flocks of his father-in-law, 
Jethro, in the land of Midian ; Amos, the prophet, was a 
herdsman. Among " cattle " were included many of the 
beasts useful to man for feeding, clothing, and other pur- 
poses j in this group, therefore, were to be found oxen, 
sheep, goats, horses, asses, and camels. Hence it seems 
most natural that the Three Children, while enumerating 
the blessings sent from above, should have specially 
dwelt on this " good gift." 

In the preceding pages we have endeavored to point 
out a few illustrations of the goodness and wisdom with 
which God has adapted " Cattle and Beasts " to the re- 
quirements of that sphere in creation where he has placed 
them, but we have done little more than open up the sub- 
ject. It is one which grows in handling, and the more we 
look the more thickly illustrations flow in upon us. With 
such a theme it is difficult to know where to begin, and it 
is equally difficult to know where to leave off. Every ani- 
mal is a text by which creative wisdom is admirably dis- 
played. 

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. — Ps. xxiii. 






FOWLS OF THE AIR. 

O ye Foivls of the Air, bless ye the Lord: -praise Him, and mag- 
nify Him for e'ver. 




JT may be truly affirmed that Birds are not sur- 
passed by any class of animals in the illustrations 
^' they afford of the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness 



of the Creator. Their shape and plumage attract our 
admiration. Their voices fill our woods in spring with 
sounds of cheerfulness and life. The grace, boldness, and 
endurance of their flight excite astonishment ; the unerring 
certainty with which, at the period of migration, many of 
them traverse seas and continents exceeds our comprehen- 
sion ; while the industry, faithfulness, and devotion dis- 
played by them in the construction of their nests and the 
rearing of their young claim for them our sympathy and 
protection. 

The song of birds has evidently the closest relation to 
the period of breeding, and common sense plainly tells us 
that it must be one of the chief attractions between the 
mated pair. The mistress of the future nest listens com- 
placently to the notes poured forth in her honor, which, in 
a language she well understands, both encourage her in 
her preparations, and add to the pleasure with which she 
sets about them. At other seasons of the year, unless 
incubation be going on, there is comparatively little sing- 
ing. It has answered its purpose, and the presence of the 
loved young ones in the nest is Nature's guaranty that 
the parents will tenderly bring their offspring up, and send 
them forth into the world when they are ready to cope with 
its difficulties. 



Fowls of the Air, 301 

The importance of the organ of voice to birds may be 
inferred from the details of its structure. The windpipe 
is comparatively wider and stronger than in any other 
class of animals. In man and other mammalia there is a 
single organ, or larynx, but in birds it is double ; or it 
may be considered as divided into two parts, one being 
placed at the top, the other at the bottom of the windpipe, 
or trachea. The sound is produced in the lower larynx 
by a mechanism which is generally compared to the reed 
in a clarionet, and it is subsequently modified in passing 
through the upper aperture into the bill. There are, more- 
over, dilatations frequently found at the lower larynx, the 
air in which adds to the sound by its vibrations. We shall 
have occasion to point out that there are also air-sacs 
abundantly dispersed over the body with which the organ 
of voice is in communication, — a circumstance which 
serves to explain how so small a creature as a bird can 
pour forth its loud stream of song uninterruptedly for so 
long a period. From these reservoirs it can supply itself 
with wind for its instrument of voice, in the same way as 
the Scotch " pipes " are supplied with air from the " bag," 
or the organ from the bellows. The sound thus produced 
is often remarkable for intensity. The nightingale, accord- 
ing to Nuttall, can be heard farther than a man, while the 
cries of storks and geese are said to be four times more 
powerful than the human voice. Flocks of these birds 
may be heard during their migratory flight from an altitude 
of three miles, and when they themselves are scarcely 
visible. 

Let us not pass on without a tribute to the skylark, 
which sings to us nearly all the year round. When other 
birds leave us, he never forsakes his home ; when others 
become mute, his cheer}^ voice may still be heard. Scarcely 
are the noise and dust of the busy city left behind before 
he salutes us with his song ; as we walk onward the 
gladsome carol is caught up by others of the band ; and 



302 Fowls of the Air, 

as our stroll ends it still lingers in our ears. Of all the 
feathered songsters he is the most constant companion 
of our rambles, and ever seems as ready to sing as we are 
to listen. Poised as a dark speck in the clear air, or rising 
on quivering wings above his nest, his song gushes out as 
if from an abounding fountain. Upward — upward — 
higher and higher ! until at length the songster himself 
sometimes vanishes from sight, and the notes, softened 
and faintly heard, seem to come out of the depths of the 
firmament. There is jio bird we could not sooner spare, 
or whose absence we should feel so much. 

The singing of birds may be considered from another 
point of view. It is something more than a language be- 
tween themselves, for it is likewise a contribution toward 
the pure enjoyments of life. To thousands it brings a 
pleasure which, though small perhaps in itself, must be 
added to the list of the little enjoyments scattered abun- 
dantly around, which in reality make up so much of the 
happiness of daily life. These concerts of Nature's choris- 
ters form one of the attractions of the country ; but even 
to the inhabitants of cities birds bring much pleasure, if 
we may judge by the number of feathered songsters ten- 
derly preserved by them. In reflecting upon such things, 
do we not find that their value consists less in the direct 
pleasure they bring than in the proof they afford that even 
in little things " He careth for us " ? 

The natural history of birds is a captivating study, and 
has given rise to some of the most delightful volumes in 
our language. The limits of the present work, however, 
forbid us to do more than briefly point out a few of those 
structural contrivances, and peculiarities of nature and 
habits, which exhibit to us in the most striking manner the 
power of the Great Artificer. 

It will be generally admitted that no animals possess a 
covering which in beauty is comparable to the plumage 
of birds 3 and yet, as always happens where Nature is the 



Fowls of the Air, 303 

artist, this beauty has not been purchased at the cost of 
any useful quality. On the contrary, what lighter clothing 
could have been devised for creatures whose aerial flights 
render lightness indispensable ? The entire plumage of 
an owl weighs only an ounce and a half ! Or what cloth- 
ing could be warmer than the feathered quilt in which 
they are wrapped ? And how essential a warm covering 
is to shield them from the heat-robbing currents of air and 
water to which they are exposed ! No air is too keen for 
those cold- defying feathers, nor can the chill even of polar 
seas, where so many pass their lives, strike through this 
non-conducting blanket. To make the clothing perfect it 
was only necessary that it should be waterproof The 
other qualities of the plumage would be useless if the water 
could penetrate among the feathers, and convert them from 
a dry, impermeable armor into a sodden mass clinging to 
the skin. Unable to resist the cold, the bird would then 
have perished. But the plumage has been perfected by 
giving to birds, and especially to water-fowl, the power to 
secrete an oily matter, which being smeared over the 
feathers renders them impervious to moisture. All must 
have observed that when a bird is dead, and can no longer 
diffuse this oil over its feathers, the water soaks in and 
soon spoils the plumage. The feathers are so arranged 
over the body of the bird that in flying or swimming the 
pressure of the air or water keeps them closely applied to 
the skin, so as to offer the least resistance to motion. 
Thus may we with admiration perceive how perfect in all 
points is the feathery covering of birds in relation to the 
purposes it is required to serve. 

The wings of birds exhibit some beautiful proofs of cre- 
ative design. In rapid flight the wings beat so forcibly 
against the air, that it is obvious that, unless the feathers 
were strongly bound together, the weaker parts would give 
way, and allow the air to pass through, by which the power 
of flight would be impaired. But this danger has been 



304 Fowls of the Air, 

obviated by furnishing the barbs of the vane, or more 
pHant part of the feather, with what are called " barbules," 
forming on either side minute hooks, curved in contrary 
directions, which by intercrossing and locking with each 
other knit the feather into a strong compact paddle, so 
firm in most birds that it may be driven without yielding 
against the air, with a force that often produces a whistling 
sound. It is a further proof of design that certain birds, 
such as owls, which are in the habit of stealing slyly upon 
their victims, do not possess this structure, as it would be 
attended with the great inconvenience of giving their prey 
notice of their approach. The wings of owls are conse- 
quently loose and soft, but by allowing much of the air to 
pass through they are not adapted for rapid flight. Hence 
the slow, noiseless, almost mysterious gliding of these 
birds. 

Another interesting example of design in relation to 
feathers is afforded by the woodpecker. When this bird 
is at work, excavating its house in the substance of some 
soft tree, or hunting for food in the crevices of the loose 
bark, it supports itself upon the perpendicular stem by 
planting its claws firmly into it, and then using its tail as a 
sort of third leg to lean upon behind. It thus stands 
firmly supported as it were upon a tripod. But as feathers 
of the ordinary kind would have been too weak for this 
" propping " service, the tail of the woodpecker is made 
of unusual strength and thickness. 

The prominence of the keel of the breast-bone, with 
which all are familiar in poultry, gauges the size of the 
muscles which move the wings, and indicates the flying 
power of the bird itself. In those whose flight is rapid 
this projection is large, while in others not intended to fly 
the keel is shallow or wanting, and the pectoral muscles 
small in proportion. The speed of birds offers great 
variety. When the flight does not exceed 30 miles an 
hour, they are considered slow flyers. The speed of the 



Fowls of the Air. 305 

swallow is computed at 90 miles, the hawk 150 miles, while 
that of the swift is said to attain the astounding velocity 
of 180 miles an hour. 

The endurance displayed by birds upon the wing is 
wonderful, and many instances are recorded which almost 
exceed belief In the time of Henry IV. of France there 
was a falcon which became famous in Europe by flying 
from Fontainebleau to Malta, 1350 miles, in 24 hours. 
But, without going so far back, we may on a summer's 
afternoon watch a flock of swallows for an hour without 
detecting the briefest interval of rest. Their skimming, 
busy, rapid wings never seem to tire. What strength of 
flight, too, must be required in those annual migrations 
which bring our winter water-fowl across the North Sea 
from frozen Scandinavia, and our summer visitors, the 
nightingales and swallows, from Southern Europe or 
Africa. Longer feats of flight are performed by some 
others, such as the Frigate or Man-of-war bird, which is 
sometimes found hunting for food in the Atlantic more 
than a thousand miles from shore. Yet it never seems to 
tire, or to seek rest either on the surface of the sea or in 
the rigging of the ship. It is said indeed never to visit 
the shore from choice, but only when the return of the 
breeding season renders a short sojourn on land indis- 
pensable. 

Feathers are of considerable value in arts and manufac- 
tures. Since the seventh century nearly the whole litera- 
ture of Europe has been written by means of quills, though 
in these latter days all-pervading iron threatens to drive 
them out of the field. When feathers are alluded to in 
connection with dress, they are usually suggestive of the 
vanities of life, but they have other uses of greater impor- 
tance. Among savages, and especially among the Esqui- 
maux, warm coverings are made of the skins of wildfowl, 
the feathers being turned inward. The great point in 
warm clothing is that the texture shall be loose enough to 
20 



3o6 Fowls of the Air. 

contain sufficient air to make it a bad conductor, and yet 
not so loose as to permit currents of cold air to circulate 
through it. Now it is found that the feathered skin of the 
Eider-duck fulfills these requirements in a very perfect 
manner, while it possesses in addition the valuable quality 
of lightness ; hence it is regarded as the most complete 
model of warm clothing in existence. 

Birds supply the civilized world with the luxury of soft 
beds and warm coverlets ; and, indeed, there are few 
houses above the line of poverty which are not indebted 
to birds for some of their comforts and attractions. Goose 
feathers are the most esteemed for beds on account of 
their combined softness and elasticity ; while Eider-down 
is best adapted for coverlets, because, although it is supe- 
rior in softness, it is less elastic and does not bear heavy 
pressure so well. It is painful to think how cruelly the 
geese are treated from which we obtain our supplies. 
Unfortunately the best feathers are considered to be those 
which are taken from the living bird, and for this reason 
the poor creature has in many districts to undergo the tor- 
ture of partial plucking several times a year. The Eider 
duck parts with its plumage on terms which, if less cruel, 
must still involve much suffering. It abounds on the coast 
of Norway, and in various parts of the Baltic, where the 
feather trade employs a number of men and produces a 
considerable revenue. In preparing her nest for the ex- 
pected brood, the mother plucks the soft down from her 
breast, and lines her habitation with it. Soon afterward 
the hardy " fowler " appears upon the scene, suspended by 
his rope, and scrambling along the face of the cliff. The 
eggs are taken for food, and the feathers for commerce ; 
and then the poor bird, after doubtlessly passing through 
her season of grief, sets to work to repair the mischief by 
plucking off another supply of down, and laying another 
set of eggs. Once more the spoiler visits the nest, and 
carries off as before the eggs and the down. But the in- 



Fowls of the Air, 307 

stinctive courage and perseverance with which Nature has 
inspired the bird are equal to the trial. For the third time 
she fits up her habitation as before and again she lays her 
eggs. But now the sagacious fowler leaves her in peace. 
He knows that, in making this final effort to refit the nest, 
the Eider-duck and her mate have torn the last shreds of 
down from their breasts, and that were he again to rob the 
nest, the brood by which he hopes at some future day to 
profit could not be reared. 

The weight of dead birds is familiarly known to every 
body. There is, in fact, no very striking difference in this 
respect between them and the other animals that live upon 
the ground, and it is obvious that mere wing-flapping 
alone would be insufficient to sustain them in the air, were 
they not aided by other means. As bones are the heaviest 
of the structures which enter into the composition of birds, 
it might naturally be expected they would offer the chief 
impediment to flight ; and such would undoubtedly have 
been the case, had not Nature, by a slight deviation from 
the general rule, converted what would have been a draw- 
back into a source of assistance. Animals whose move- 
ments are on the rough surface of the ground, require to 
have bones of great strength and density to enable them to 
withstand the shocks and strains to which they are liable ; 
but birds, whose chief movements are in the air, do not 
require bones of such solidity. Nature, therefore, by 
forming them into hollow cylinders, has given them the 
shape which mechanically combines the greatest strength 
with the greatest lightness ; and after every particle of 
superfluous bony matter has been thus removed, the in- 
terior of the bone is generally filled with air instead of 
marrow, by which the weight is still further reduced. 

Not only does air pass freely into the bones of birds, 
often down to the ends of the small bones composing the 
toes, the tips of the wings, and even into the quills of th? 
feathers, but, by means of a peculiar system of air-cells 0: 



3o8 Fowls of the Air, 

receptacles, it is diffused all over the body, with an abun- 
dance which corresponds to the flight-power of the bird. 
These air-cells are in free communication with the air-pas- 
sages of the lungs, and many of them can be inflated or 
emptied at will. They are of large size in the thorax and 
abdomen ; occasionally they reach high up in the neck, 
forming as it were a balloon in front of the body, and they 
are generally very widely distributed under the skin. I n 
birds distinguished for their power of flight, such as the 
Solan-goose, Albatross, and Pelican, the air not only fills 
the bones but surrounds the viscera, insinuates itself be- 
tween the muscles, and buoys up the entire skin. The 
whole body is inflated like a balloon. 

The circumstance, however, which chiefly promotes 
buoyancy, and gives to this remarkable arrangement its 
lifting power, is the comparatively high temperature of the 
included air. Birds are warmer blooded than mamma- 
lians j thus while the internal temperature of man sel- 
dom exceeds 98° Fah., that of birds varies from 106° to 
112° Fah. This higher temperature is an indispensable 
requirement of their great muscular energy ; and it, no 
doubt, also helps to counteract that tendency to cold which 
necessarily arises from their rapid movements both in air 
and water. But the purpose served by this high tempera- 
ture to which we now draw attention is that it acts as a 
furnace to heat the air within the bones and cells. In cir- 
culating round the walls of the cavities containing air, the 
blood imparts to the latter a portion of its own warmth, 
just as a service of hot-water pipes heats the air in a room 
round which it is carried. The heated air, of course, 
renders the whole bird buoyant, on the principle of a fire 
balloon or caoutchouc ball, both of which readily rise into 
the air on being warmed. When the weight of the bird 
has thus been brought more or less into equilibrium with 
the surrounding air, the action of the wings easily lifts it 
from the ground. How completely this equilibrium is 



Fowls of the Air, 309 

sometimes attained, even in the case of very large and 
heavy birds, may be inferred from the fact that the gigan- 
tic Condor of the Andes is occasionally seen wheeling in 
circles for hours together without the aid of a single flap 
from its wings. The perfection of buoyancy is even more 
wonderfully displayed by the Frigate bird of the Atlantic, 
which is said not only to rest its wings, but even to slum- 
ber as it floats in the air like a balloon. 

The comparison just made may be carried a step 
further. If an opening be made in the balloon or the 
caoutchouc ball, through which the warm air can escape, 
they will collapse and fall to the ground. And in like 
manner, if the bone of a bird be fractured, or an opening 
be made into it at a place that is favorable for the escape 
of the air, the buoyancy of the bird is destroyed and it 
tumbles to the earth. So easy is the communication be- 
tween the air-cavities of the bones and the lungs, that 
when the windpipe of a bird is closed, respiration can still 
be carried on for a short period through a broken bone, 
which serves as an artificial windpipe to convey the air to 
the lungs. 

Many birds, instead of seeking for their food on shore, 
skim over the surface of the sea, and dive after their prey, 
or even pursue it under the water. It might reasonably 
be expected that the inflation of the body with air, which 
has just been described, would unfit them for diving and 
swimming under water, exactly in proportion as it pro- 
moted their power of sustaining themselves in the atmos- 
phere. It is a singular fact, however, that the birds most 
remarkable for flight are sometimes no less distinguished 
for the ease with which they dive and glide about under 
water ! The Solan-goose, for example, whose usual 
haunts in this country are the lofty heights of the Bass 
Rock and Ailsa Craig, is a most expert diver, as is proved 
by its being sometimes accidentally caught in fishing nets 
that have been sunk from 10 to 30 fathoms under water. 



3IO Fowls of the Air. 

How happens it, we might reasonably ask, that a bird 
which at one moment is soaring buoyantly in the light air, 
can. at the next be diving and swimming through the dense 
water? It is obvious that some rapid adjustment of its 
weight, or specific gravity, must take place in order to en- 
able it to accomplish such a feat. This is achieved by 
simply giving to the bird the power of emptying more or 
less completely many of its principal air-cells, by means of 
muscles variously disposed in different parts of the body,, 
which in contracting squeeze the air out of the cells, just 
as water is squeezed out of a caoutchouc bag when com- 
pressed in the hand. In this employment of air-cells to 
lessen or augment the specific gravity of birds, we are re- 
minded of the function performed by the swimming blad- 
der of fishes. 

In regard to the movement of birds their general shape 
must not remain unnoticed. It will be observed that they 
are invariably formed like a wedge, of which the head and 
beak represent the apex. It is easy to understand how 
this must facilitate their progress both through air and 
water. 

The beak of a bird is to be regarded not merely as a 
mouth, but also as an instrument of touch and prehension. 
In shape and strength it differs widely according to the 
nature of the work it is intended to perform. So closely, 
indeed, is this constructive relation observed, that, as 
Cuvier pointed out, you may tell from the beak of a bird 
what it feeds upon, what are its habits of life, and whether 
its disposition be gentle or ferocious, with as much cer- 
tainty as you can decide the same question in regard to a 
quadruped, whether living or fossil, by the examination of 
its jaw. Some bills are excellent fly-traps, gaping widely 
and sweeping the air as with a net. Others, as in the 
snipe, are long and narrow, that they may probe the marshy 
ground, and they are supplied with nerves in order that 
they may feel the food which is often hidden from their 



Fowls of the Air. 311 

view. Some bills, as in the Flamingo, are veritable scoops 
to ladle up the food into the mouth. Not the least ad- 
mirable adaptation is to be found in the common duck, 
whose bill is soft, expanded, and sensitive, while the mar- 
gins are supplied with horny transverse plates which act as 
a strainer to separate the particles of food from the turbid 
water in which it searches for them. The woodpecker's 
bill is a finely pointed chisel of great strength, tipped with 
horn almost as hard as ivory, to enable it to splinter the 
decayed bark of trees while hunting for insects, or to ex- 
cavate the substance of the wood itself in nest-building. 

Not unfrequently the beak serves as an organ of locomo- 
tion. A parrot, for example, uses it in climbing as dexter- 
ously as in' cracking a nut and separating the kernel. The 
anterior extremities being appropriated for wings, the bill 
serves as a kind of hand with which birds lift, carry, and 
build. What human fingers could unhusk the seed with 
the nimble dexterity of some of our caged birds ? There 
is, it is true, no arm to wield this hand, but Nature has 
made the neck of birds long and flexible, on purpose that 
it might act as an arm to apply this " bill-hand " wherever 
it is wanted. 

As birds usually swallow their food the instant it is 
taken into the mouth, any particular development of the 
sense of taste would be superfluous. With few exceptions 
the tongue is stiff", cartilaginous, or even horny. In hum- 
ming-birds and woodpeckers it is usually thought to be of 
great length, but this appearance is in reality due to a 
peculiar structure connected with the hyoid bone, to which 
the tongue may be regarded as attached somewhat as a 
spear-head is fixed to the end of the shaft. By this means 
the tongue may be darted out far beyond the limits of the 
mouth. In the humming-bird the tongue consists of a 
pair of narrow muscular tubes, resembling the double- 
barrel of a gun, and it divides at the tip into two spoon- 
like blades, or fringes, with which the bird adroitly seizes 



312 Fowls of the Air. 

its food. In the woodpecker the tongue is a veritable 
spear, tipped and barbed with horn, by means of which it 
transfixes its prey, and bears it securely to its mouth. 

Birds are no less characteristically distinguished by their 
power of vision than quadrupeds are by the sense of smell, 
and man by the sense of touch. Nuttall observes that a 
kite soaring beyond human ken detects a small bird or a 
mouse upon the ground, and descends upon it in almost a 
perpendicular line. The clearness of their vision is no 
less wonderful than its extent, for by slightly altering the 
shape of the eye it can be adjusted to distances and light, 
as if it were a telescope. 

Many birds live on seeds which, being protected both 
by their vitality and their dense coverings, must be broken 
up before the gastric juice can act upon them with effect. 
To have crushed them in the mouth would have required 
grinders fixed in heavy jaws moved by bulky muscles ; and 
these, in their turn, would have entailed the necessity for 
extensive surfaces of bone to afford attachments. It is 
obvious that such an apparatus is out of the question in 
birds, because it involves weights which are incompatible 
with flight. But the difficulty has been overcome by giv- 
ing them a triturating machine, so admirably contrived 
that it dispenses with the use of teeth altogether, and 
forms a part of the stomach itself The thin, membrane- 
ous stomach which we usually see in most animals would 
have wanted the requisite crushing power, and, therefore, 
it here takes the form of a muscular gizzard. Yet, even 
a gizzard, strong though it be, would not be able to cope 
with the hard texture of seeds, but for certain supplement- 
ary aids which perfect the action of the machine. Let us 
observe what happens. When the grains are picked up 
they are first received into " the crop," where they are 
moistened, and macerated, and kept back until the rest 
of the digestive apparatus is at liberty to attend to them. 
They next pass into the "ventriculus succenturiatus," or 



Fowls of the Air, 313 

true stomach, where they are exposed to the solvent action 
of the gastric juice. And, lastly, after having been thus 
soaked and softened, they slip on into the gizzard, where 
they are ground into a pulp. As this process is contin- 
ued, the food passes onward, and the nutritious portion is 
soon absorbed. 

The gizzard is truly an instrument of astonishing power 
when its small size is considered; The force applying the 
triturating pressure consists of strong opposing muscles, 
and the cavity lying between them is lined by a tendinous 
expansion almost as hard as horn, on which the grain is 
ground as in a mill. There is a kind of petrel found far 
to the north, in which the cavity is inlaid with a hard tu- 
berculous pavement, forming no inapt representation of 
the rough surface of a millstone. The gizzard of some 
mollusk-feeding birds, as ducks, is strong enough to crunch 
up shells with ease. In experiments on turkeys and com- 
mon fowls, in which they were forced to swallow sharp, 
angular fragments of glass, metallic tubes, and balls 
armed with needles, and even lancets, all these sub- 
stances were found to be broken or compressed by the 
powerful action of the gizzard, without having produced 
any wounds, or apparently even any pain. The chief bulk 
of the gizzard being made up of the muscular walls, the 
cavity is necessarily small, and only a little can be taken 
in at one time ; hence the presence of a gizzard requires 
the aid of the other receptacles just described, to act as 
" hoppers," and by their special vital tact furnish a gradual 
supply. Graminivorous birds habitually swallow sand or 
pebbles to facilitate the grinding operation of the gizzard ; 
and if the ear be applied to the side of a fowl while the 
gizzard-mill is at work, the sound of the " stones " rub- 
bing against each other is often to be heard. In a certain 
sense the gravel may be said to act as teeth to pierce and 
lacerate the food in the stomach, and it has been remarked 
that fowls grow thin when it is rigidly excluded from their 



314 Fowls of the Air, 

diet. They are, as it were, suffering from the loss of their 
teeth. 

Although true crops are seldom found except in grami- 
nivorous birds, it is often desirable that there should be a 
receptacle in which food may be temporarily stored, either 
because the supply is precarious, or in order to facilitate 
its transport to the nest. In the pelican, the skin under 
the lower jaw forms a capacious expansile bag, in which 
fishes and other food may be carried to the young ones. 
Our favorite, the Swift, has also a jaw-pouch in which it 
deposits its insect prey until it is convenient to hand it 
over to the eager mouths in the nest. It is a curious cir- 
cumstance that this pouch is found only in the breeding 
season, and then only in birds old enough to have a home 
and a family to provide for. So minutely are details at- 
tended to by Nature. But when we think how busily 
these birds feed their young throughout the day, we may 
form some idea of the time and trouble saved by means 
of this game-bag. In other cases the gullet is expanded 
into a receptacle, as in the vulture, which is thus enabled 
to lay in a stock of carrion, both for itself and its young, 
as opportunity offers. A similar arrangement exists in 
certain waders and swimmers. Bishop Stanley says that 
" in watching cormorants at a distance through a tele- 
scope, they may be sometimes seen quietly reposing with 
their mouths half-open and the tail of a fish hanging out, 
the remainder gorged in their capacious gullet ; and sea- 
gulls will swallow bones of three or four inches in length, 
the lower end only reaching their stomach, while the rest 
continues in the gullet, and slips down gradually in propor- 
tion as the lower ends are consumed." 

There are some wildfowl whose whole substance is, as 
it were, infiltrated with oil. It makes them buoyant on 
the water, and, like a blanket wrapped round the various 
organs, serves to retain the animal heat. It is also a store 
of fuel, to be drawn upon in times of scarcity for combus- 



Fowls of the Air, 315 

tion in the lung§. The oil, moreover, sometimes forms a 
welcome addition to the " lighting " resources of commu- 
nities placed far out of the way of gas and candles. Thus 
the hardy inhabitants of St. Kilda, a solitary island in the 
Atlantic, lying about fifty miles west of the Hebrides, are 
in the habit of levying on the Fulmar petrels frequenting 
the rocks an oil-tax, which is collected by making them dis- 
gorge a quantity of " pure oil " by means of the skillful ap- 
plication of pressure. 

The number of the different kinds of birds known to ex- 
ist is four times greater than that of quadrupeds ; but it is 
the multitude of individuals that most astonishes us. They 
immeasurably exceed both mammalia and reptiles, and we 
must descend to fishes before we find tribes comparable to 
them in this respect. Strolling on the sea-shore of the Isle 
of Wight on an October afternoon, we have seen swallows 
flocking away to their winter homes in numbers that seemed 
countless, and in a broad stream which required ten min- 
utes to pass by. Illustrations of the astounding multitudes 
of birds are to be found in every book on Ornithology, but 
we will here only refer to one given by Audubon. Among 
the Rocky Mountains flocks of migrating pigeons are often 
seen moving in a stream more than a mile broad, and 
although their speed probably exceeds a mile in a minute, 
three hours are sometimes spent before the long proces- 
sion has ended. At the moderate estimate of two pigeons 
to each square yard, Audubon calculates the number in 
one such flock to be one billion one hundred and fifteen 
millions. 

Such dense clouding of the air with birds leads the 
mind back to a scene that occurred in the wilderness, near 
Mount Sinai, more than three thousand three hundred 
years ago. We read in the sixteenth chapter of Exodus 
that the Israelites, dispirited and mistrustful, bitterly up- 
braided Moses for having led them so far away from 
Egyptian plenty to perish miserably in the desert : " Ye 



3i6 Fowls of the Air, 

have brought us forth into this wilderness to kill the 
whole assembly with hunger." But the Israelites were 
rescued in their need, and the King of Nature fed them 
with quails and manna. "And it came to pass that at 
even the quails came up and covered the camp." 

In the eleventh chapter of Numbers we read that on 
another occasion quails were sent in even greater abun- 
dance, — but sent this time in wrath to punish the murmur- 
ing Israelites. They had become discontented with the 
manna miraculously provided for them, and longed for the 
flesh and fish, and other good things to which they had 
been accustomed in Egypt. So the anger of the Lord was 
kindled, and He made the granting of their desire the 
means of their punishment : " And there went forth a 
wind from the Lord, and brought quails from the sea, and 
let them fall by the camp." For a day's journey round 
the ground was covered with birds in heaps : " And the 
people stood up all that day, and all that night, and all 
the next day, and they gathered the quails." " And while 
the flesh was yet between their teeth, ere it was chewed, 
the wrath of the Lord was kindled against the people, 
and the Lord smote the people with a very great plague." 
Yet this was the same kind of food which had before pre- 
served them in the wilderness of Sinai. It had been 
eagerly desired, and had been granted abundantly; one 
thing, however, it lacked, without which neither food nor 
any other gift can profit — it lacked God's blessing. De- 
prived of that the seeming good became evil, and instead 
of bringing health and strength, it brought the deadly 
plague. 

There is no denying that birds necessarily consume 
some of the fruits of the earth ; but, on the whole, they 
well repay the tax thus levied, both by feeding on the 
seeds of weeds, and by the havoc they make among crop- 
destroying grubs and insects. The truth of this is suffi- 
ciently proved by the fact that, wherever crusades have 



Fowls of the Air, 317 

been made for the extirpation of birds, success has inva- 
riably been followed by repentance. A few years ago 
sparrow-clubs for the indiscriminate slaughter of our fa- 
miliar companions — the only birds that follow us into 
towns — came into fashion in some English counties, but 
enlarged experience and observation have sufficed to put 
them down. The last phase of the bird-crusade has been 
a fierce attack on rooks. While the balance of the argu- 
ment is decidedly in favor of their protection, it must, 
nevertheless, be conceded that it is possible to have too 
much even of a good thing. On the one hand, the farmer 
may justly consider rooks as a natural police to keep 
within moderate limits some of the worst pests of the 
field ; but, on the other, the force must be maintained 
with due relation to the work that is to be done. If the 
hands — or bills — be too few, grubs and other insect-ver- 
min will increase destructively ; but if the rooks be too 
numerous, the supply of grubs will be insufficient for the 
demand, and they will be driven to support themselves on 
other kinds of food. The wise course, therefore, is to 
keep them within proper limits, and then they will seldom 
be found feeding at the farmer's expense. 

Nothing more conclusively demonstrates the bad policy, 
no less than the cruelty, of destroying little birds, than 
the experiment recently made by our neighbors in France. 
Until a short time ago small birds were absolutely without 
protection, and as every thing that flies is there apt to be 
accounted game, they were shot, trapped, and netted, until 
at length they were nearly extirpated. In many parts of 
France the silence that oppresses the woods and shrub- 
beries in spring is melancholy. But by slow degrees farm- 
ers discovered that in killing little birds they had lost a 
willing band of active servants, whose absence from the 
field was marked by the rapid increase of insect-vermin ; 
and they are now anxiously endeavoring to repair the evil 
that has been done by protecting birds by every means in 



31 8 Fowls of the Air, 

their power. There is no reason to doubt that all birds 
have been created by Providence to perform some useful 
part in the economy of Nature ; and that, while it is often 
expedient to keep their numbers in check, extirpation al- 
most invariably turns out to be an act of folly. 

It is not without interest to remark that in the Jewish 
Law promulgated by Moses nearly 1500 years before the 
Christian era, a law with which the Three Children were 
doubtless familiar, the case of the poor bird had been 
carefully considered, and some degree of protection legally 
afforded to it. In the twenty-second chapter of Deuteron- 
omy it is enjoined: "If a bird's-nest chance to be before 
thee in the way in any tree, or on the ground, whether 
they be young ones or eggs, and the dam sitting upon the 
young or upon the eggs, thou shalt not take the dam with 
the young ; but thou shalt in any wise let the dam go." 
The restriction doubtless referred to the allowable appro- 
priation of the contents of the nest for the sake of food ; 
but it evinces the same spirit of kindness to the lower an- 
imals generally by which the enactments of Moses were 
distinguished. 

It would be easy to fill a volume with stories about the 
affectionate ways of birds, but it is impossible adequately 
to portray them in a few paragraphs. The genuine, un- 
selfish, almost self -immolating tenderness they display 
toward their young is proverbial, while the contemplation 
of it always affords to hearts open to such influences a 
large amount of pleasure. 

The very names of some birds are a testimony to their 
gentle nature ; thus the word " Stork " both in Hebrew, 
Greek, and English expresses affection and kindness. It 
has been said that the young retain their love for their 
parents long after the usual nest-ties have been dissolved, 
and even cherish and feed them when they have become 
helpless through old age. What truth there may be in this 
popular tradition need not here be discussed, but every 



Fowls of the Air, 319 

body must at least wish that so pleasing a trait of bird- 
nature should be true. It can excite no surprise that creat- 
ures about which such things are said should be favorites 
all over the East, and indeed in every country where they 
are found. Among Mohammedans more especially the 
stork is a welcome visitor, and is. privileged to build its 
n6st in whatever spot it may choose to select. Its habita- 
tion is held sacred, nor does it fail to show by its tameness 
that it understands the friendly footing on which it has 
been placed. It, moreover, repays the consideration it re- 
ceives by waging incessant war against snakes and various 
other kinds of vermin ; and by thus checking their undue 
increase, it fulfills its part in the appointed business of the 
world. 

In Holland the stork is held in such reverence that it 
is protected by law. All travelers in that part of the 
world must have observed its grave, statue-like figure 
perched on roof or gable. There was a certain stork 
whose fame has spread far beyond its native Holland, as 
an example of devotedness to its offspring. It had taken 
up its quarters in Delft, and had the misfortune to build 
its nest on a house which was subsequently burnt down 
during a fearful conflagration. As the fire raged round the 
nest, the poor stork was seen anxiously yet vainly endeav- 
oring with her wings to protect her young. Nearer and 
nearer swept the flames, the thatch crackled and blazed, 
but the faithful mother would not desert her post, and per- 
ished with her young ones. 

The Pelican, so associated in our minds with Holy Writ 
and Eastern story, abounds in Palestine and in the wilder- 
ness spreading beyond the Tigris and Euphrates. This 
is another bird whose affection for its young has become 
classical. It is a most dexterous fisher, catching up with 
sure aim its finny prey, which it deposits for a time in the 
mouth-bag, formed by the dilatable skin under the lower 
mandible, until it can be conveniently conveyed to the nest. 



320 Fowls of the Air. 

Tradition long would have it that the affection of the peli- 
can for its young induced it in periods of scarcity to lac- 
erate its breast in order to feed them with the blood. 
Later observations, however, have shown this to be an 
error, arising from the habit which the bird has of pressing 
the mouth-pouch against its breast for the purpose of 
emptying its occasionally red-tinged contents into the 
nest. The pouch itself is an example of the considerate 
contrivance of Nature, by which she facilitates the trans- 
port of food-supplies to the young brood. 

The examples we have cited are, so to speak, classical 
and historical, and they are so beautiful and characteristic 
that they never fail to be read with interest. But the ex- 
perience of almost every body can recall instances which 
illustrate the affectionate ways of birds toward their 
young with equal truth, and, perhaps, with even greater 
force, since they have happened within his own knowledge. 
Who does not recognize the expressive cries of birds when 
their fears are excited by danger threatening their young ? 
How fiercely the shy blackbird menaces and almost as- 
sails the prowling cat which an evil chance has brought 
too near her dwelling ! With what cunning sagacity the 
lapwing, the wood-pigeon, the partridge, and a host of 
others, imitate the struggles of a wounded bird, in order 
to decoy the sportsman from the nest where the young 
ones lie hidden. And the fidelity with which in the midst 
of their terror most birds cleave to their young in the nest, 
up to the very moment when the hand is about to seize 
them, is a spectacle of devotedness which none can have 
witnessed without interest. 

The tenderness of birds is not limited to their young, 
but is often lavished upon their mates also. Let us not 
forget that faithfulness in union is nowhere more conspic- 
uous than in those birds that are notorious for fierceness 
and rapacity, as eagles and hawks. Ravens and crows 
generally pair for life. The dove, known in Scripture as 



Fowls of the Air. 321 

the emblem of innocence and of the calm happiness it im- 
parts, is also distinguished in this respect. The pigeon 
devotes her life to one companion, and the union is only 
dissolved by death. When bereaved she mourns her loss, 
and long refuses to accept another mate. " The black 
pigeon of the East, when her mate dies, obstinately rejects 
all others, and continues in a widowed state for life." 
Among thousands of examples few are, perhaps, more 
touching than one given in a note to White's " Selborne." 
'*' Lord Kaimes relates a circumstance of the canary which 
fell dead in singing to his mate while in the act of incuba- 
tion. The female quitted her nest, and finding him dead, 
rejected all food and died by his side." 

The affection of birds is frequently extended to their 
old haunts, and they cling with constancy to the place 
where they were born. Nightingales, swallows, and many 
others find their way back to the spot where their early 
days were spent, and often to the very nest-homes with 
which their joys are associated. Every body knows with 
what fidelity rooks cleave to their native trees, and how 
doggedly they resist every effort to dislodge them. With 
all the trees of the country open to their choice, rooks 
sometimes strangely prefer a nest in a solitary tree in 
some great city, because it is the home where they were 
born. For eight months of the year not a bird, perhaps, 
except the universal sparrow, is to be seen there ; but 
with commencing spring the constant rooks, winging their 
way over streets and houses, once more appear, and set 
about patching up the old nest. 

It is remarked in White's " Selborne," a rich quarry in 
all that relates to the habits of birds, that " even great 
disparity of size and kind does not always prevent social 
advances and mutual fellowship. For a very intelligent 
and observant person has assured me, that, in the former 
part of his life, keeping but one horse, he happened also 
on a time to have but one solitary hen. These two incon- 
21 



32 2 Fowls of the Air, 

gruous animals spent much of their time together in a 
lonely orchard, where they saw no creature but each other. 
By degrees an apparent regard begun to take place be- 
tween these two sequestered individuals. The fowl would 
approach the quadruped with notes of complacency, rub- 
bing herself gently against his legs, while the horse would 
look down with satisfaction, and move with the greatest 
caution and circumspection, lest he should trample on his 
diminutive companion. Thus by mutual good offices each 
seemed to console the vacant hours of the other." 

Many who turn with interest and sympathy toward 
them complain that birds do not know how to recipro- 
cate their affection. But this accusation appears to be 
disproved by facts. The means which birds have of ex- 
pressing their liking toward us are, of course, very limited, 
and are often obscured by that natural distrust bestowed 
on them for their preservation. Still if any one will ex- 
pend a little time and patience in trying to win their 
regard, it is wonderful how much may be accomplished. 
Caged birds often become very tame. They droop and 
pine in our absence ; they revive, know us, and welcome 
us with a flutter of excitement when we return. They 
feed from our hands, respond by sympathetic movements 
or cries to the sound of our voice, and show confidence 
and affection in a thousand pretty ways. On the lawn or 
about the shrubbery we may soon collect round us troops 
of feathered friends. They will come when we call them, 
or sing when we whistle to them ; in many cases they will 
pop down within notice the instant we appear in the gar- 
den, as if they had been on the outlook for our arrival. 
A bright-eyed robin will attend us on a short winter's 
walk almost as faithfully as a dog. Instead of not recip- 
rocating attention, many birds seem only waiting to be 
made friends. If thoughtless little boys could be induced 
to try, they would soon find out that there is more enjoy- 
ment to be got by making friends with birds than by 



Fowls of the Air, 323 

frightening them, or throwing stones at them, or robbing 
their nests. When once they have realized this pleasure, 
and begin to understand the feathered tribes, they will 
regard all marks of confidence shown toward them by 
birds as so many claims upon theii sympathy and pro- 
tection. 

Singular stories are told of the fancies which birds have 
sometimes taken to particular individuals ; we shall here 
give two examples, all the more readily because they bring 
to favorable notice certain familiar inmates of the farm 
whose mental powers are generally underrated. Bishop 
Stanley in his delightful book tells us of a goose which 
used to follow a citizen of Elgin about the streets with as 
much fidelity as a dog. When visits were made to neigh- 
bors' houses, it waited patiently outside, and joyfully re- 
joined its master on his reappearance. No change of 
dress for a moment deceived its keen affection. It liked 
to hear his voice, and responded by its own peculiar cries 
of satisfaction. 

The Bishop also relates the story of an aged woman, in 
Germany, who was habitually led to church by a saga- 
cious old gander. Her attendant laid hold of her dress 
with its beak, and gently tugged her onward. Having 
seen her fairly seated in her pew, the wise bird decorously 
withdrew to the church-yard_, where it enjoyed a well- 
earned repast until service was finished, when it recon- 
ducted its charge home. The family regarded it as the 
safest of escorts, and were accustomed to declare that 
they felt no anxiety on the old lady's account " so long as 
they knew that the gander was with her." 

We all desire to think well of the cuckoo. The day on 
which it is first heard in spring is a marked event in coun- 
try life, and we listen to the soft, mellow notes as a sure 
call toward the coming pleasures of the summer. Yet the 
character of our favorite is generally believed to break 
down upon a point on which it is thought that bird-nature 



324 Fowls of the Air. 

is strongest, namely, in maternal affection. It certainly is 
proved, on evidence which cannot be disputed, that the 
cuckoo, instead of taking the trouble of building a nest for 
herself, stealthily drops her ^gg in the nests of other birds, 
and then leaves it to its fate. Such a habit seems a libel 
on Nature herself; but, instead of at once accepting the 
inference that seems to follow from it, we shall act wisely 
if we suspend our judgment for a moment, in the convic- 
tion that Nature would not thus strangely depart from her 
usual kind ways without some good and sufficient reason. 
Let us first consider what the facts against the accused 
really are, and then let us see what may be said for the 
defense. 

It appears that this strange deception is practiced upon 
a variety of unsuspecting little birds. Yarrell gives a list 
of fourteen, among which are to be found the robin and 
blackbird, the skylark and the hedge-sparrow. The cuckoo 
chooses her time with great adroitness, generally after one 
or two eggs have been laid in the nest ; and as the plot is 
favored by an unaccountable obtuseness on the part of the 
intended foster-mother, it never fails of success. The con- 
duct of the young cuckoo by and by only makes the matter 
worse. Although the title of the other occupants of the 
nest is so much better than its own, scarcely have a few 
hours elapsed after its birth before it begins to take forci- 
ble measures to secure the whole nest to itself, and mo- 
nopolize all the little bird's feeding attentions. Dexterously 
insinuating its head and shoulders under any unhatched 
eggs that may still remain, or under the bodies of its 
foster-nestlings, it raises them up on its back, and ruth- 
lessly pitches them overboard. Let us now see what can 
be said in excuse for this apparently bad case. How a 
hedge-sparrow or any other bird can be so stupid as not 
to perceive the gross fraud thus practiced on its maternal 
tenderness, is difficult to explain upon any other principle 
than that, throughout the whole affair. Nature herself has 



Fowls of the Air, 325 

been in league with the deceiver. First, it may be re- 
marked that the cuckoo's ^gg is singularly small in pro- 
portion to the size of the bird. It is no bigger than that 
of the skylark, although the cuckoo is four times as large. 
In regard to size, therefore, the egg may pass muster in a 
small bird's nest. Secondly, it is observed that the newly 
born cuckoo has a peculiarity in its back, which is pro- 
portionally broader than in other birds, and has a depres- 
sion in the middle, formed as if expressly to facilitate the 
process of ejectment. This view is further confirmed by 
the fact that this selfish propensity of the young cuckoo 
gradually subsides and disappears completely about the 
twelfth day, when the peculiarity in the back is no longer 
to be seen. 

Besides the circumstances mentioned, the old cuckoo 
remains too short a time in this countr}'- to admit of its 
rearing its offspring to maturity. The eggs are laid at 
intervals from about the middle of May to the middle of 
July, and at the end of that month the old birds take their 
departure. It was therefore necessary that the young 
should be left in charge of other birds, which might take 
care of them and feed them when the parents left. By 
September or October the young cuckoos have attained 
strength sufficient to enable them to set out toward their 
winter-quarters. From the evidence now adduced we infer 
that a verdict must be given in favor of the cuckoo, as it 
clearly appears that when the bird drops her ^gg into a 
nest which is not her own, she is neither cruel nor destitute 
of maternal affection, but is only obeying an instinct of 
her nature, which is, perhaps, absolutely necessary for the 
safety of the future brood and the preservation of the 
species. 

Nowhere is the vulture regarded with friendly eyes, and 
nothing that can be said in his favor will ever make him 
a lovable bird. But, though his appearance be fierce and 
sinister and his occupation repulsive, it must not be for- 



326 Fowls of the Air, 

gotten that his work is of very great utility in the countries 
where he is found, and that he is admirably adapted for 
its performance. 

In our survey of Nature we are frequently reminded how 
necessary the removal of dead matter is to the salubrit)' 
of the air by the care which the Creator has taken to pro- 
vide for it. In another part of this book it has been seen 
how innumerable infusorial animalcules are day and night 
at work in cleansing away minute animal rubbish. Insects 
and larvae labor for the same purpose ; and, in continuing 
to ascend the scale, we find that many of " the fowls of the 
air " have been appointed to discover where bulky animal 
matters are left to decay, and to arrest decomposition by 
converting them at once into food. In this useful band 
of Nature's scavengers vultures occupy a foremost place. 

No charge of cruelty lies against vultures. They rarely 
attack any thing with life, and confine themselves closely 
to their own special work. They follow the movements 
of the camp and the caravan, and attend upon travelers 
and hunting parties. If a man take a siesta in the desert, 
observes a writer, he may find on opening his eyes that 
some of those birds are hovering around, evidently spec- 
ulating on his death-like immobility, and the chances it 
seems to hold out of a speedy banquet. The great Condor 
of the Andes is likewise a scavenger in his habits. The 
height to which he soars and the acuteness of his vision 
doubtless assist him much in his search for food. 

Vultures and other scavenger-birds are found to be most 
numerous in warm climates, where the speedy removal of 
dead animal matter is more especially necessary on account 
of the rapidity of its decomposition. In our own country, 
also, the hooded and the carrion crow, as well as some 
other birds, perform a little work of the same kind. Num- 
bers of these birds were seen to follow in the wake of the 
Danish army in its retreat from the Dannewerke during 
the late war. 



Fowls of the Air. 327 

The quickness and certainty with which vultures divine 
where carrion is, or is Ukely to be, appears very remark- 
able. Hardly has the breath departed from the dying horse 
or camel, before they may be seen gathering in the air to 
the banquet. The power by which they thus almost in- 
variably congregate where carrion is to be removed is not 
clearly ascertained. By some it is attributed to the sense 
of smell But that sense is little developed in birds, and 
in the vulture it appears to be remarkably obtuse ; for that 
bird has been known neither to perceive nor suspect the 
presence of carrion in a covered basket placed by its side, 
although the odor emanating from it was overpowering. 
With greater reason the faculty has been ascribed to the 
acuteness of their sight ; but although this may account 
for it in general, it hardly appears sufficient to explain 
every case. To a certain extent, therefore, the subject 
still remains a mystery. 

When gathered together at the scene of their work, let 
us observe how admirably they have been fitted for its 
performance. The bill of birds has been elsewhere com- 
pared to a hand j in the vulture it is a hand armed with 
a very formidable weapon. The bill is both strong and 
hard, and equally well fitted to cut, to lacerate, or to be 
thrust into the mass about to be devoured. Elsewhere, 
too, the long neck of birds has been compared to an arm 
to apply the hand-beak where it is wanted. In the vulture 
this arm is strong, flexible, and muscular, and both it and 
the head are naked or destitute of feathers. Should we 
not think the better of a workman who, in handling offen- 
sive matters, laid aside his coat and tucked up his sleeves ? 
Now this is precisely what Nature has done for the vulture ! 
Its bare arm facilitates the performance of its work. 
Under every aspect the service is repulsive, but how much 
more repulsive it would have been if the " arm " had been 
covered with feathers, to be soiled with the foul matters 
with which it must necessarily come into contact. 



328 Fowls' of the Air. 

Occasionally the vulture exhibits qualities that entitle it 
to rank among the most sagacious birds. A recent trav- 
eler in the East tells us that " in the middle of the day- 
ostriches leave their eggs in the sand, forgetting that the 
foot may crush them, or the wild beast break them. High 
in the air about this period of the day a white Egyptian 
vulture may be seen, with a large stone clutched between 
his talons. Having carefully surveyed the ground below 
him he suddenly iets fall the stone, and then follows it in 
rapid descent. If the hunter now run to the spot, he will 
find a nest of probably a score of eggs, each equal in size 
to twenty-four hen's eggs, some of which have been bro- 
ken by the ingenuity combined with the good aim of the 
vulture." 

The raven is another bird which has the misfortune not 
to be a popular favorite ; but, admitting a few imperfec- 
tions, he is certainly no worse than many other birds 
which pass muster with a fair character. In the East he 
is said to share the repulsive occupation of the vulture 
and the adjutant, a kind of crane from which the beautiful 
marabou feathers are derived, but in this country at least 
his diet is less objectionable. He is, we fear, occasionally 
in the habit of plundering the farm-yard ; but if at rare 
intervals he make free with an ill-guarded duckling, the 
loss is. amply atoned for by the war he is always waging 
in the farmer's interest against some of the worst kinds of 
vermin. In other respects the sober-tinted bird is dis- 
tinguished for many excellent qualities. He is affectionate 
and faithful to his mate, attached to the tree or the tower 
of his birth, and capable not only of great tenderness to 
his offspring, but also of attachment toward various 
animals, and even to man himself. Superstition has un- 
fortunately cast its debasing shadow upon the poor bird. 
There are people whose comfort for the day would be 
destroyed were they to meet a raven in a lonely spot, and 
its " ill-omened croak " even yet possesses terror sufficient 



Fowls of the Air, 329 

to pale many a cheek. Surely it is time for the wide- 
spreading knowledge of the day to dissipate such puerile 
fancies, more especially as they are often suggestive of 
cruel acts against these harmless creatures. 

Ravens were chosen on one remarkable occasion to 
show forth God's power and mercy, by conveying to Elijah 
the food on which he lived when he was a fugitive : " And 
the word of the Lord came unto him, saying, Get thee 
hence, and turn thee eastward, and hide thyself by the 
brook Cherith, that is before Jordan. And it shall be, 
that thou shalt drink of the brook ; and I have com- 
manded the ravens to feed thee there." " And the ravens 
brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread 
and flesh in the evening." — i Kings xvii. Ravens are also 
interesting to us from their having been selected by Christ 
to inculcate upon all men the lesson of trustfulness in 
God : " Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor 
reap, neither have storehouse nor barn j and God feedeth 
them. How much better are ye than the fowls." 

In the periodical migrations of birds we have a source 
of never-failing wonder. As certainly as winter approaches 
and the first icy blasts begin to blow over the land, our 
feathered visitors from the north swarm in upon us ; while 
with returning spring they wing their way back again to 
their summer haunts. In this migratory circle many of our 
winter wildfowl annually revolve. In the land to which 
they repair they mate and build their nests and rear their 
young, until the passing season once more warns them 
that it is time to depart for the south. There is a corre- 
sponding southern migratory circle, in which the seasonal 
movements are just reversed — our visitors coming in the 
spring and leaving in autumn --- but which is even more 
interesting to us than the former, since it brings the 
nightingale, the swallow, the cuckoo, and the other favorite 
birds with which we more especially associate the bright 
days of summer. Migration, indeed, strictly considered, 



330 Fowls of the Air, 

goes on to an extent hardly suspected, as it is calculated 
that five sixths of all the feathered tribes shift their quar- 
ters more or less according to the change of season. 
Practically, however, the term is restricted to the few birds 
which take long flights. 

The regularity with which migration occurs has been 
known from remote times, and is frequently alluded to in 
Holy Writ : " The stork in the heavens knoweth her ap- 
pointed times ; and the turtle and the crane and the swal- 
low observe the time of their coming." So fixed is the 
advent of some of these travelers that, in certain Eastern 
countries at the present day, almanacs are timed and 
bargains struck upon the data it supplies. Nor is the 
period of return less remarkably punctual in some of our 
British birds. About the middle of April the nightingale 
makes its appearance in many localities, and there is sel- 
dom a difference of more than a day or two in the date of 
its annual return to the same place. Keen is the contest 
then between friendly neighbors as to who shall first enjoy 
the pleasure of hearing the expected note. Most fre- 
quently, perhaps, the nightingale is first heard in the 
morning, because his journey ended only during the pre- 
vious night ; but little time is lost before he salutes with 
his song the garden or the copse of his early days. At 
first his notes are low and interrupted, and he seems as 
if reserving himself for the arrival of his mate. Like a 
prudent pioneer he comes first by himself, as if to see that 
the old ground is clear, and that all things are propitious 
for taking up house. In a few days thereafter he will be 
joined by his mate, and then the work of the breeding 
season will begin. There is something extremely pleasing 
in the idea of birds seeking out not only their native 
clime or country, but even their native garden and the 
nest in which they were born. Storks invariably return to 
their old quarters ; swallows not unfrequently occupy the 
same nest during several consecutive years, and the same 
remark applies to many other birds. 



Fowls of the Air, 331 

The distances traversed in migration are enormous. 
Certain little birds in America annually pass and repass 
from the Arctic circle to the Equator. Africa appears to 
be the great winter home of the " southern migration " in 
the Old AVorld. Birds from the southwestern districts of 
Asia, from Syria, and ancient Babylonia, as well as from 
Russia and Turkey, pass, like the quail, into Egypt and 
parts adjoining ; while those with which we are familiar 
on the western side of Europe return to Barbary, Algiers, 
and countries still further to the south. Swallows are res- 
ident throughout the year in the neighborhood of Sierra 
Leone, but their numbers greatly diminish in the summer, 
which is the period corresponding to their journey into 
Europe. Taking this point as the southern limit of their 
migration, the length of their flight may be estimated at 
from one to three thousand miles. Not without cause, 
therefore, do we see bestowed upon swallows a strength 
of wing that is extraordinary in proportion to their size, 
and a rapidity of flight unequaled in any other class of 
birds. 

All migratory journeys are not performed upon the 
wing. Some birds, as coots and rails, migrate partly on 
foot. The great penguin, the guillemot, and various 
divers migrate partly by swimming. Some American 
water-birds, according to Nuttall, swim, across the lakes, 
and then flounder over the intervening land which sepa- 
rates them. 

The causes of migration and the means by which it is 
so unerringly accomplished have always been a puzzle to 
naturalists. Most frequently the cause has been ascribed 
to seasonal changes of climate and temperature, and in re- 
gard to these matters birds are believed to be more weather- 
wise than we are ; or as due to the failure of the custom- 
ary supply of food, involving the necessity of seeking it 
elsewhere. Both circumstances are probably not without 
influence in inducing migration, but there must be besides 



332 Fowls of the Air, 

some powerful natural impulse. Nightingales and swal- 
lows confined in cages begin to be restless and agitated 
as the usual period for migration approaches, although 
they be kept warm and carefully supplied with food. The 
same thing happens even to birds that have always been in 
confinement, and which, therefore, cannot be influenced by 
the example of companions. With futile efforts the little 
prisoner beats the cage with its wings and tries to break 
through the bars ; and when at last it sees the struggle is 
in vain, it often in despair pines away and dies. The im- 
pulse to migrate is so irresistible that it sometimes con- 
quers the feeling of parental affection which is so strong 
in birds, as every year cases occur of swallows leaving 
their offspring to perish miserably in the nest in order to 
troop off with their companions to the sunny South. 
These unlucky broods have been hatched so late in the 
year that they have not had time to attain size and 
strength sufficient for their journey. It is, therefore, not 
without wise design that the early period of spring has 
been fixed as the breeding season for most birds. By this 
arrangement not only have the young ones the long period 
of summer abundance before them, during which they 
may grow and become hardy against the approach of win- 
ter, but time is also afforded to those that are migratory to 
acquire the requisite practice and strength of wing f6r 
their long flights. 

The power which so unerringly guides the migratory 
bird across strange seas and continents is mysterious, and, 
indeed, at present incomprehensible. None of the senses 
with which we are acquainted, even though they were de- 
veloped to the highest perfection we can conceive possible, 
would suffice for the purpose. As birds are so seldom 
seen when actually on their journey, it is supposed they fly 
chiefly during the night, and often at such an immense 
elevation in the air that they readily escape notice. From 
these circumstances it may perhaps be inferred that the 



Fowls of the Air. , 333 

lamp which guides them — whatever it may be — is not 
dependent on external objects. 

Our limits prevent us from doing more than merely 
touch on Ornithology, yet enough has been said to indicate 
some of the many ways in which the " fowls of the air " 
magnify the Creator. In reflecting on this subject we are 
no less struck by the wonderful things that are achieved 
than we are by the simplicity of the means that are em- 
ployed. What could be apparently a more difficult prob- 
lem than to fit animals, formed chiefly of such solid mate- 
rials as bone and muscle, to fly with ease through the light 
air ? Yet this has been accomplished without the intro- 
duction into the plan of creation of any new type of struct- 
ure, but merely by the skillful modification of structures 
already existing. The feathers, the claws, and the beak 
are only modified hairs or horn. The same bones which 
support fins in fishes, legs or paddles in reptiles, or legs or 
arms in mammalia, have by slight changes been made the 
framework of wings. The jaws, for reasons connected 
with the food, form a horny beak instead of teeth. This 
beak is not only a mouth but a hand, with the great ad- 
vantage for birds of having the eyes set closely behind it. 
The neck is modified so as to be a long, supple, dexterous 
arm to wield this hand. Mastication was inadmissible in 
the mouth, so the weak muscular fibres usually found en- 
veloping the stomach of vertebrate animals are developed 
into a powerful gizzard to crush the food independently 
of any assistance from the mouth. The anterior extremi- 
ties being required as wings, the posterior are admirably 
placed to support the centre of gravity, and there are few 
animals which are such excellent balancers as birds. 
Many birds rest by perching on one leg, but notwithstand- 
ing their skill in balancing, they would be in danger of 
falling off every time they went to sleep, were there no 
self-acting contrivance to assist them in holding on. The 
bulky muscles which move the toes are placed for conven- 



334 Fowls of the Air, 

ience' sake out of the way high up in the leg, but they send 
down narrow tendons, or cords, which, passing behind the 
joints at either end of the shank, popularly called the 
leg, are inserted into the bones of the feet. As the fowl 
stands erect these tendons are to a certain extent relaxed j 
but the moment the legs are bent, as in the act of settling 
to roost, the tendons are stretched tense over* the joints, or 
pullies, so as to draw the toes and make them mechani- 
cally clasp the perch. If the tendons in the shank of a 
fowl after it has been severed in trussing be pulled, the 
nature of this admirable contrivance will be at once com- 
prehended. 

In some birds, as in parrots, the claws are arranged so 
as to grasp like a hand ; hence, considering the use they 
make of the bill, they might be called " three-handed." 
The legs and claws of birds are planned in accordance 
with their varying habits of life. Some are made for 
wading, others for scratching ; some for tearing, others for 
swimming. The swimmers are web-footed, and the paddle, 
after having delivered its stroke, folds up, or as it might 
be technically called " feathers," so as to impede as little 
as possible the progress of the bird through the water. 
By hollowing out the bones into cylinders, not only has the 
solid material been disposed so as with least weight to 
afford the greatest strength, but by causing the interior of 
the bones to communicate with the air-passages, great 
lightness has been given to the entire bird. The numerous 
air-cells distributed over the body have also contributed 
toward bringing the weigM of the living bird into equilib- 
rium with the weight of the atmosphere. The simplicity 
of the means, the perfection with which they are applied, 
and the admirable results accomplished, equally strike us 
with astonishment. 

The evidences of creative design are nowhere more 
beautifully displayed than in the eggs of birds, which can 
be watched with facility from the earliest appearance of 



Fowls of the Air, 335 

the germ up to the fully developed chick. The future 
bird first shows itself as a short white line, or " primitive 
streak," as it is called, lying on the membrane that con- 
tains the yolk. This germ gradually grows and develops 
itself, forming in succession a spinal column, brain, and 
heart, with blood which is at first colorless and then red. 
The other organs appear simultaneously or in succession. 
The ^gg itself, like a seed, is stored with abundance of 
food for the embryo j and, in proportion as this food is 
absorbed, room is made for the growth of the chick. A 
certain amount of aeration is required during development, 
and, therefore, the shell has been made porous. It is 
essential, also, that the rudimentary chick should always 
lie uppermost in the ^gg^ in order that it may thus be 
placed next to the warm body of the hen during the proc- 
ess of hatching. To secure this end the yolk is made to 
float freely in the " white," and the side opposite to the 
germ is weighted or " ballasted," so as always to lie lower- 
most. Therefore, no matter how an ^gg is laid down, the 
germ will always be found to correspond to the side that 
is uppermost. There is, moreover, a little reservoir of air 
at the thick end of the ^gg, easily recognized by its trans- 
lucency when held before a candle, from which the chick 
slightly inspires before emerging from the shell, and is 
thus enabled to emit the feeble chirps by which the act is 
sometimes preceded. Any one who has looked at the 
newly born chick must have wondered how such a soft 
creature can deal with so hard a substance as its contain- 
ing shell ; but if the upper part of the beak be examined, 
a few hard, horny scales will there be noticed. Thus 
Nature has not forgotten to supply the chick with a, ham- 
mer for the purpose of breaking open its prison. 

How truly, then, may it be said that the " fowls of the 
air " magnify the goodness and power of the Creator ! 
Heartily may we respond to the invocation contained in 
this verse of the hymn for the sake of their beauty which 



33^ Fowls of the Air. 

gladdens the eye, and for the sake of their songs which 
dehght the ear. Birds bring us vast stores of food to 
nourish us, clothing to keep us warm, comfortable beds 
on which to rest, and oil to cheer the gloomy winter nights. 
Before the lightning was pressed into our service, pigeons 
were our swiftest messengers. Birds scatter and sow seeds 
all over the world. When their numbers are maintained 
within reasonable limits they are valuable friends to the 
farmer, repaying him for the grain which they consume by 
picking up the germs of weeds, and by keeping insect life 
within due bounds. In the great work of intercepting 
and utilizing animal matter hastening away to destruction 
through decay, they take their full share. Their nest- 
building is a lesson in neatness, industry, and often in 
mechanical construction. Books on Ornithology are full 
of delightful stories of their affection toward their mates 
and their young ones. The interest they inspire dates 
almost from the dawn of Sacred History. It was a dove 
which signalized to Noah in the ark that the waters were 
subsiding, and it thus became for ever associated in our 
minds with good tidings, and the passing away of wrath. 

In glancing at the bright green lawns which are so 
pleasingly characteristic of English country homes, a 
shrewd guess may sometimes be made as to the disposi- 
tion of those who are accustomed to walk about on them. 
The differences to be observed are obvious and full of 
meaning. There are a few dull lawns, like the " desolate 
regions " of the ocean, on which birds scarcely ever seem 
to venture. Incessant persecution in some form has ban- 
ished them from its borders, and the garden has thereby 
lost a charm for which no mere floral beauty can adequately 
compensate. On other lawns birds make their appearance 
like timid intruders. Seldom do they dare to lower their 
heads to feed, but with startled look and outstretched neck 
they seem to be always suspicious and uncomfortable. 
But on more genial lawns the little visitors alight as wel- 



Fowls of the Air. 337 

come and protected favorites, hop about familiarly as if 
they felt themselves at home, cheer and vivify the aspect 
of Nature around, and recognize in a thousand pretty but 
indescribable ways the friends who are accustomed to feed 
and pet them. 

A bird's-nest, with its eggs or callow brood, is no bad 
lever with which to cast out from the young heart any 
seeds of cruelty which ignorance or thoughtlessness may 
have planted there. Among children it is universally an 
object of the greatest interest. With what delighted curi- 
osity they fix their keen glances on the nest to which they 
have been softly and with bated breath led up, and how 
eagerly they peer at the pretty eggs, or the helpless creat- 
ures lying huddled together in their home. And if, per- 
chance, the mother has been surprised at her duty of incu- 
bation, with what astonishment they behold the very bird 
which used to be so timid on the lawn now grown bold 
through maternal affection. Rooted to the nest, with body 
motionless, with eyes fixed and glassy, she appears as if 
turned to stone. Seldom, indeed, does the sight fail to 
touch the good feelings of the child, and to bring them 
into that plastic' state in which they maybe readily molded 
to humanity and gentleness. This is the propitious mo- 
ment when the cruel impulse to seize and destroy may be 
easily changed by a few judicious words into the abiding 
desire to foster and protect. 

Teach me to do Thy will; for Thou art my God. — Ps. cxliii. 
22 





WHALES, AND ALL THAT MOVE TN THE 

WATERS. 

O ye ivhales, and all that mo've in the loaters^ bless ye the Lord : 
praise Him, and magnify Him for en) er. 

E need not here inquire critically into the mean- 
ing of the word to which the term " whale " has 
been applied in the Benedicite, since the invoca- 
tion is obviously intended to include every inhabitant of 
the deep. It is well known that the whale, although in 
reality a mammiferous animal, and belonging, therefore, to 
the same class as man himself, was always considered a 
fish up to the time of Linnaeus ; and, indeed, in the minds 
of not a few it continues to be regarded as a fish up to 
this very day. 

The Three Children, in their earnest desire worthily to 
praise God, passed in review all His greatest works ; and 
it must be admitted that, had they been masters of the 
whole knowledge of Natural History accumulated since 
their time, they could not have selected any creature 
" moving in the waters " more fitted to display the power 
and wisdom of the Great Artificer. The whale, it is true, 
must have been comparatively little known at Babylon, still 
we may presume that the Three Children had heard 
enough concerning its immense size and strength to justify 
them in singling it out as the grandest representative of 
marine life. It is recorded that they were eminent for 
their attainments ; and therefore they might easily have 
become acquainted with this animal from the descriptions 
of merchants whom commerce had made familiar with the 



All that move in the Waters, 339 

productions of the Eastern and Mediterranean Seas. 
There was a time when whales frequented that great 
Atlantic inlet, and the circumstance of their having now 
forsaken it is probably due, not to any difficulty in regard 
to food or climate, but to their having been hunted off the 
ground. It is well known that seas which afforded rich 
whale-fishings even a century ago are now barren and 
profitless, and this timid, harmless creature is year by year 
driven further away from the haunts of man, and deeper 
into the recesses of the polar regions. He fights a losing 
battle with his human foes ; for, from the more perfect ap- 
pliances of modern skill, the chances are ever growing 
worse against him. It is the opinion of many naturalists 
that the Great Northern Whale is destined to disappear 
altogether from the earth at no very distant date ; and 
then, like the Ichthyosaurus and the other extinct animals 
of bygone days, he will be known only by the bony relics 
he may have left behind him. 

There are many different kinds of whales. Some, like 
the Cachalot or Spermaceti Whale, are almost peculiar to 
the southern hemisphere ; others, as the Great Whalebone 
AVliale, inhabit the northern seas. It is well to recollect 
that the latter is known by a variety of names. Thus it is 
often called the Right Whale, or the Mysticete, or the 
Baleen Whale ; again, it is familiarly termed the Green- 
land, or simply the Common Whale. We shall here di- 
rect attention chiefly to the Mysticete, because from better 
acquaintance with its structure and habits we shall be able 
more clearly to perceive the fitness with which it illustrates 
God's power and beneficence. 

The whale is the leviathan of creation. The Rorqual, 
a species which sometimes gets stranded on our coasts, is 
a moving mass of life often more than a hundred feet long 
and of extraordinary girth, with a weight which has been 
known to reach two hundred and forty-nine tons. The 
common whale seldom exceeds seventy feet in length. In 



340 Whales, and 

looking at the skeleton of the latter preserved in the Mu- 
seum of the London College of Surgeons, we perceive 
with astonishment a spinal column which in thickness and 
strength might be compared to the trunk of a goodly sized 
tree, and which in its thicker parts is built up of massive 
vertebral blocks, tied together in the living animal by the 
toughest ligaments and cartilages. Yet every organ reared 
upon this huge frame displays the same wonderful and per- 
fect workmanship throughout. Every single fibre of the 
muscle-masses that wield these ponderous bones, and 
every nerve and blood-vessel, down to structures so fine 
that they cannot be seen without a microscope, or handled 
without the risk of being broken, have been finished with 
a delicacy and beauty not surpassed in any department of 
creation. 

The head of the whale seems of monstrous size, espe- 
cially when the animal is viewed out of the water and 
stranded on the beach. In the Cachalot, which is often 
seventy or eighty feet long, the head forms about a third 
of its whole bulk, a circumstance which is chiefly owing to 
the spermaceti lodged in a hollow on its upper surface. 
The jaws of the common whale are the portals of a mouth 
capacious enough to ingulf a boat; and, when brought 
home as curiosities from Arctic regions, they are suffi- 
ciently long and strong to serve as piers for gates and as 
supports for swings in play-grounds. Had the nature of 
this enormous creature been ferocious, these jawbones 
would doubtless have been armed with teeth of correspond- 
ing size, and he would have been the most fearful tyrant 
of the deep which it is possible to conceive — a monster 
more formidable than the Ichthyosaurus or Megalosaurus 
of ancient times. Happily the nature of the common 
whale is timid and gentle, and he is formidable to nothing 
except the small fry, medusae, and various little mollusks 
which swarm in the polar sea. 

Though living in the water, the whale, like the dugong, 



All that move in the Waters. 341 

porpoise, dolphin, and other cetacea, belongs to the mam- 
malian or highest class of the Animal Kingdom. The 
term whale-fishing, therefore, is misapplied, though now 
fixed by custom beyond recall ; whale-hunting would be a 
more correct expression. It is distinguished from fishes 
by many very clear marks. Fishes breathe by gills, which 
require the air to be conveyed to them through the me- 
dium of water. They seem always to be gulping or swal- 
lowing water, while in reality they are only propelling a 
current of it over the vascular fringes which form the gills. 
On the other hand, whales breathe by lungs, to which the 
atmosphere must be directly admitted. From this cause a 
fish dies if it be kept long out of the water, and the whale 
would be drowned if he were kept very long immersed 
in it. The fish has " cold blood," a heart with only two 
chambers or cavities, and what is termed " a single circu- 
lation." The whale is a "warm-blooded" animal, has a 
heart with four cavities, as in man, and has a " double cir- 
culation." In the fish, therefore, the blood which is sent 
from the heart passes to the gills, and, after receiving the 
small amount of aeration it requires, continues its course 
onward to nourish all parts of the body. In the whale the 
blood is first propelled from the right side of the heart, 
through the capillaries of the lungs, to be thoroughly 
aerated, or arterialized, and then returns to the left side of 
the heart, whence it is propelled to circulate generally over 
the body, for the purpose, on the one hand, of carrying 
nutriment to the various organs and building them up ; 
and, on the other, of conveying away, in the returning 
current of venous blood, the rubbish or waste of the dif- 
ferent organs to the lungs, where it is finally got rid of by 
being burnt. Fishes, moreover, have no external ear- 
openings \ whales have them, and hear well in the water. 
Lastly, fishes multiply by spawning; whales bring forth 
their young alive, and suckle them with the greatest ten- 
derness. 



342 Whales^ and 

The whale, being an air-breather, requires to rise at 
intervals to the surface for respiration ; but, as its hunting 
operations are chiefly carried on under water, it would 
obviously be a great hindrance were it obliged to come to 
the surface very frequently for that purpose. This circum- 
stance has not been overlooked by the Great Artificer, 
and has been met by special modifications of structure, 
which are no less beautiful than wonderful. It may be 
here remarked that the absolute quantity of blood in a 
whale is greater in proportion to its size than in most 
other animals. The arrangements for its reception and 
circulation are on a corresponding scale. Hunter tells us 
that the heart and aorta of the cachalot " are too large to 
be contained in a wide tub," and that ten or fifteen gallons 
of blood are pumped out by every pulsation, through an 
aorta measuring a foot in diameter. Paley estimated this 
torrent as greater than the stream " roaring " through the 
main pipe of the water-works at old London Bridge ! 
Now, in order to afford stowage-room for all this blood, it 
is found that, at various parts of the circulation, both arte- 
ries and veins have been made to assume a peculiar tortu- 
ous or plexiform arrangement, by which their capacity to 
contain blood is so increased that they may be considered 
as forming collectively a tubular reservoir. When the 
whale is breathing at the surface, the arterial reservoir natu- 
rally becomes filled with what may be called a supplement- 
ary store of highly aerated blood, upon which the whale 
draws, as it were, while under water, until it is exhausted 
by being changed into venous blood in the course of circu- 
lation. The whale must then return to the surface for a 
fresh supply. The diver, when working at the foundations 
of our piers or forts, carries down with him the air which 
is to renovate his blood j but the whale carries down a 
supplemental stock of blood which is already renovated. 
By means of this simple but wonderful adaptation, whales 
usually remain from five to ten minutes under water be- 



All that move in the Waters, 343 

tween the breathing periods ; while some of the' larger 
kinds are said to be able to remain for an hour and a half 
without coming to the surface. 

The whale does not breathe through its mouth, but 
through the nostril or " spiracle," placed conveniently for 
the purpose at the very top or apex of the head. At such 
times it is to be seen spouting or " blowing." The mech- 
anism of this act is admirable. In the passage leading to 
the nostril there is a sac which, inferiorly, communicates 
with the back of the mouth, and, superiorly, with the ex- 
ternal surface by means of the spiracle. When the whale 
is about to " blow," the sac is filled from the mouth with 
water mixed with air, and the opening between the two is 
then closed. The sac is now forcibly compressed by a 
muscle spread over it like a net, by which action the water, 
unable to escape downward, is forcibly driven through the 
upper aperture, or spiracle, so as to spout into the air like 
a water-work. It is as if a caoutchouc syringe filled with 
water were suddenly grasped by a powerful hand. To 
make this structure perfect, the spiracle when not in use is 
closed partly by its valvular margin, but still more effectu- 
ally by a hard, tendinous structure, like a plug, which, 
being drawn into the orifice by means of a special muscle, 
is held there by the pressure of the outside water, and the 
greater that pressure, the more firmly is the plug wedged in. 

The skin of the whale is of extraordinary thickness, and, 
under several points of view, illustrates very remarkably 
the wise design of the Creator. The blubber which yields 
the oil is not collected in a layer under the skin, as is 
commonly thought, but is distributed through the sub- 
stance of the skin itself To form a correct idea of this 
structure we have only to suppose ordinary skin loosened 
or opened out into innumerable interstices or cells, in 
which the oily matter is lodged. In this manner fresh 
blubber acquires a firmness and elasticity which enables 
sailors, in " flensing " the whale, to cut it up into conven- 



344 Whales, and 

iently sized pieces with their spades, when it becomes ne- 
cessary to stow it away in barrels for the homeward voyage. 

The oil thus lodged in the meshes of the skin invests the 
whale with a covering which in many places is two or three 
feet in thickness, and from its non-conducting qualities, no 
blanket could be conceived better calculated to preserve 
the temperature of a warm-blooded animal exposed to the 
chilling influences of polar seas. Without some aid of this 
kind it is difficult to imagine how whales could exist in 
such climates. 

The blubber renders another important service to the 
whale by acting as a float. Were there no special con- 
trivance to assist in buoying up the enormous weight of 
muscles and bones which chiefly compose its bulk, it would 
be difficult for the whale to support itself at the surface of 
the sea for the purpose of breathing. 

The blubber-skin is likewise of essential use in protect- 
ing the whale against the enormous pressure to which it is 
occasionally exposed when swimming at great depths. On 
the surface of the sea the pressure is equal to about fifteen 
pounds to the square inch ; but at the great depths to 
which the whale is known to descend, it may be a ton, or 
even more, on the same superficial extent, a pressure suffi- 
cient " to force water through the pores of the hardest 
wood, so as to make it afterward sink like lead." It is 
needless to observe that such a degree of compression on 
the internal organs of a mammalian would be fatal to life. 
No mere skin, though it were twice as thick as the hide of 
a rhinoceros, and no mere layer of fat, though twice as thick 
as the coating of blubber found in the whale, would suffice 
to intercept it. But the strong, elastic combination of both 
constituting the blubber-skin answers the purpose admira- 
bly, and, like a barrel, or circular arch built round the 
body of the whale, defends the vital organs from injury. 

The whale is an expert swimmer. Though usually mov- 
ing at a gentle pace, it can skim over the surface in a way 



All that move in the Waters, 345 

which has procured for it the distinction of being called 
" the bird of the sea." When harpooned, it can dive into 
what are termed "unfathomable depths " with startling ra- 
pidity. Scoresby tells us that on one occasion a whale 
which had been struck carried the line sheer downward 
for nearly a mile with almost the quickness of an arrow. 
With equal ease and velocity it can lift itself up again to 
the surface. In all these movements it depends on the 
strength of its tail. The extremity of this wonderful scull 
is flattened out into a blade, which often has a surface 
equal to a hundred square feet \ and, for the sake of act- 
ing more effectually in diving and lifting movements, it is 
spread out horizontally, not, as in fishes, vertically. The 
power of the muscles which wield this scull is enormous. 
When excited the whale lashes the sea all around into 
foam, and can sink or crush a boat with a single stroke. 
Darwin tells us that while sailing along the coast of Terra 
del Fuego, he " saw a grand sight in several spermaceti 
whales jumping upright quite out of the water with the 
exception of their tail-fins. As they fell down sideways, 
they splashed the water high up, and the sound reverber- 
ated like a distant broadside." When we think of the 
weight of those whales, we may form some idea of the 
force that must have been required to lift them up from 
the sea in the manner described. Who can feel surprised 
that whaling should be considered a service of danger ? 
The wonder is that, in the encounters which occur with 
the leviathan, he should so generally be worsted. 

In some whales, as in the Cachalot, the lower jaw is 
furnished with powerful teeth, which enable them to prey 
upon large fishes, seals, and porpoises. The common 
Whalebone "Whale feeds chiefly on the myriads of diminu- 
tive mollusks, jelly-fishes, and crustaceans that abound in 
the polar ocean. The scale of abundance on which this 
food is provided will be found described at page 138, 
and will again be immediately noticed. The gullet of 



34^ Whales, and 

the whale is singularly narrow in relation to the size of 
the animal, and more especially does it appear diminutive 
when contrasted with the vastness of the mouth. A good 
authority affirms that the gullet does not exceed an inch 
and a half in width ; from which it may be inferred that a 
morsel which could be easily managed by a cormorant 
or a pike might possibly choke a whale. This circum- 
stance, taken in connection with the fact that it has nei- 
ther teeth nor claws, sufficiently indicates that the whale 
is not formed to attack or seize a large and active prey ; 
nor, if the prey were caught, could the whale rend it into 
pieces small enough to permit of its being swallowed. 

On the other hand, the whale is supplied with a most 
efficient apparatus for catching the peculiar kind of food 
on which it is destined to live. All round the mouth, in- 
stead of teeth, closely set plates of whalebone, terminating 
in thick, coarse fringes, project from the upper jaw in such 
a way as to convert the spacious cavity within into an 
enormous sieve. And, as if the size of this food-trap were 
not ample enough, it has been increased in several species 
of whale by dilating the floor of the mouth into a large 
bag. When the whale closes his jaws upon a mouthful 
of food-containing sea-water, he passes it, as it were, 
through the strainer ; the superfluous water being expelled 
through the fine whalebone meshes, while every thing that 
is fit for nourishment is retained. 

One of the duties assigned to the whale in Nature's 
economy is to check the inordinate increase of certain 
kinds of animal life. Piazzi Smith mentions that, when 
sailing along the margin of the Trade-winds, he fell in 
with a group of three whales feasting upon a shoal of 
medusae, or jelly-fish. The shoal was from thirty to forty 
miles in length, and was computed to contain not fewer 
than 225 millions of individuals. Here, indeed, was a case 
where Nature's lavishness obviously required pruning ; so 
the three whales had been " told off" to do the work. 



All that move in the Waters, 347 

And yet, strange though it may appear, the actual number 
of Hving creatures swallowed by the whales at their ban- 
quet was as nothing compared to the countless millions 
of organisms that are sometimes required to make up a 
feast for a single medusa ! On examining the stomach 
of one of these inert-looking lumps of jelly, it was found 
to contain myriads of microscopic diatoms on which the 
medusa had been regaling when surprised by the whale. 
To arrive approximately at the aggregate of life here in- 
dicated, one would have to multiply the 225 millions of 
medusae by that infinitely greater figure represented by the 
included diatoms. The latter were enveloped in their 
siliceous shields, and thus exhibited a singular instance 
where animals — if such they really are — so hard that 
they may be described as cuirassed in flint, were selected 
as a banquet by the softest animals in creation. Jelly 
though the medusa be, these flinty substances cannot resist 
the vigorous action of its digestive power. 

Circumstantial evidence of the strongest kind suggests 
that the great mysticete should be added to the list of 
distinguished arctic discoverers \ for, at a time when the 
existence of a northwest passage was still in doubt, the 
question was virtually solved by a Greenland whale. In 
the " fishery " it is customary to mark the harpoons with 
the name of the ship and the date of the voyage. On one 
occasion it happened that a whale was killed not far from 
Behring's Straits, and in its body was found a harpoon 
labeled with the name of a Greenland ship, by one of 
whose crew the weapon had been implanted at an early 
period of the same season. The question that naturally 
arose was — How did the whale get to Behring's Straits ? 
Now it is ascertained that the common whale never crosses 
the line ; for the warm sea-water and the hot climate of 
the Equator form a barrier across which it will not pass. 
Moreover, the interval since the whale in question was 
harpooned near Greenland was too short to have afforded 



34^ WkaleSy and 

time for it to come round either by the Cape of Good 
Hope or Cape Horn. The conclusion, therefore, which 
almost necessarily followed was that the whale must have 
traveled by the short, direct route of the northwest pas- 
sage. The circumstance seemed equally to indicate the 
important fact that the intervening Polar Sea must have 
been almost, if not quite, open throughout, for, as we have 
seen, the whale cannot remain long under water at one 
time. 

The whale appears to have been anciently captured in 
the Bay of Biscay by the hardy fishermen of the coast, and 
by the Norwegians in the German Ocean, less for the sake 
of its oil or whalebone than as an article of food. We are 
assured in the Naturalists' Library that when the flesh of 
a young whale is cleared of its fat, and then broiled and 
seasoned with pepper and salt, it eats somewhat like coarse 
beef Even the blubber, when pickled and boiled, is said 
to be "very palatable." We know that the Esquimaux 
generally regard it with great favor. A stranded whale is 
truly a rich treasure to the ill-supplied inhabitants of the 
polar regions. They banquet on the flesh, and carry the oil 
about with them as a refreshing cordial. When some of 
the internal membranes are dried, they become sufficiently 
transparent to serve as windows for huts. The sinews are 
separated into filaments to be used as thread for sewing. 
Some of the bones are fashioned into spears and harpoons 
for killing sea-birds and seals. Various parts of the whale 
are likewise turned to account in the construction of tents 
and boats. 

The English whale-fishery began at Spitzbergen in 1598, 
where it had been previously carried on by the Dutch. 
Until recently from 1800 to 2000 whales were annually 
caught ; and, indeed, the fishery has been prosecuted with 
a perseverance which threatens the annihilation of the 
Northern whale altogether. In the arctic seas this inoffen- 
sive animal has no other enemy than man ; but in those 



All that move in the Waters, 349 

of Australia the whale, which some assert is the same as 
the Northern, has to encounter the attacks of a kind of 
porpoise, which are locally termed "killers." These ani- 
mals hunt in company, and worry the whale, like a pack 
of dogs. Sometimes they bring the chase to bay, and thus 
incidentally serve as " pointers " to ships engaged in the 
fishery. Though smaller than the whale, many of these 
killers are 25 feet long, and, considering their strength and 
their terrible armature of teeth, must be very formidable 
enemies. 

The whale is seen to greatest advantage when floating 
lazily on the surface, or skimming lightly over it, and 
spouting its curving stream of water into the air. But 
viewed as he lies stranded on the shore, he is, perhaps, 
the most monstrous and ungainly beast to be found in 
creation. Yet this huge lump of life is animated with a 
very warm and affectionate heart. The whale nurses her 
young with tenderness, and carries it about under her 
flappers until it is weaned, or until the growth of the whale- 
bone sieve in the mouth is so far advanced as to enable it 
to catch food for itself. Often may the pair be seen dis- 
porting themselves and gamboling in the water ; and, when 
danger threatens, the mother either hastily bears its young 
one off to some place of safety, or defends it bravely against 
assailants. Seldom can she be made, even when wounded, 
to seek her own safety in flight, and sometimes she has 
been known to perish rather than desert her offspring. 
The affection which the mated whales display for each 
other is no less remarkable. " Captain Anderson relates 
that having struck one of two whales, a male and a female 
that were in company together, the wounded one made a 
long and terrible resistance ; it struck down a boat with 
five men in it by a single blow of the tail, and all went to 
the bottom. The other still attended its companion and 
lent it every assistance, until at last the whale that had 
been struck sunk under its wounds, while its faithful asso- 



350 Whales, and 

date, disdaining to survive the loss, stretched itself upon 
the dead animal, and shared its fate." Every old sailor 
familiar with the " fishery " has something to tell in honor 
of this peculiar trait of whale-nature. With such stories 
present in our mind, we think less about the whale's ugli- 
ness than we did before, and experience all the pleasure 
of recognizing the play of those warm affections which 
always interest and delight, whether they be exhibited by 
the most beautiful or the most homely of God's creatures. 

In Holland a considerable quantity of glue is manufac- 
tured from the mysticete, but its chief value consists in the 
whalebone found in the mouth and the oil contained in the 
blubber. Speaking anatomically, whalebone is of the na- 
ture of horn, and the loose fibres with which it is fringed 
closely resemble a very coarse kind of hair. The numer- 
ous uses to which it is applied are familiar to all. The 
skin of a " good fish " will generally yield about thirty 
tons of oil. The whale-fishery, including that of the 
southern hemisphere, has been ranked as " the most val- 
uable industrial pursuit of the sea," and gives employment 
to vast fleets of ships. 

If the productiveness of the whale-fishery be decreasing 
it may be considered providential that the falling off is 
only of recent date, and that the discovery of many other 
sources of artificial light has been coincident with it. 
Thus the seal-tribes are rapidly becoming rivals to the 
whale in an economical point of view. Oil extracted from 
the liver of various kinds of fish is now well known in the 
market. Many new kinds of vegetable oil are in use. 
Vegetable wax is largely imported. Camphine yields a 
bright and economical light. Of greater importance is 
the recent manufacture of parafiine, or mineral oil, from 
waste coaly matters and bituminous shales, which is being 
developed in this country with extraordinary success. 
But unquestionably the greatest addition made to our 
light-giving power in these days has been the discovery of 



All that move in the Waters. 351 

the oil-springs of the earth, on which some obsei'vations 
have already been made. Thus there is reason for thank- 
fulness when we reflect that, although one source is likely 
to be impaired, others are gradually opening up to us 
through the never-failing providence of Our Father. 

Praised be the Lord daily ; even the God who helpeth us, and ponreth His 
benefits upon us. — Ps. Ixviii. 

In the brief space that remains for the further consider- 
ation of " all that move in the waters," more cannot be 
done than merely to give a rapid glance at some interest- 
ing points connected with the habits and general structure 
of fishes. 

It is a pleasant sight to watch the finny tribes as they 
swim about in the transparent waters. The whole fish is 
an instrument of progression, the very ideal of easy, 
graceful movement. The filmy, waving fins implanted on 
its sides and back balance, stop, and steer, besides aiding 
somewhat in slight changes of position, but the chief pro- 
pelling power is in the tail. The entire body forms an 
animated scull, of which the bony vertebral column is the 
stem and the tail-fin the blade, while the powerful muscles 
grouped advantageously along both sides ply it with vigor, 
and urge the fish forward with a dexterity and effect 
which no artificial sculling can rival. The body of the 
fish is solidly massed in front to afford a firm support from 
which the scull rnay work, and the head is joined on to it 
without any intervening neck in order that it may offer a 
stiffer wedge in cleaving through the water. How smoothly 
and with how little effort fishes glide gently against the 
current, or poise themselves nearly motionless with head 
to stream, waiting patiently for their food to float down 
toward them. But, if suddenly alarmed, the whole water 
is thrown into commotion, as with a few vigorous tail- 
strokes they dart away with the quickness of an arrow. 
When fishes leap into the air, they gain the required im- 



332 Whales^ and 

pulse by a sudden blow with the tail against the resisting 
water. Even the feats of the, so-called, flying-fish are 
really not flights, but immense bounds produced by a jerk 
of the tail. The large pectoral fins are never used as 
wings, although they act as parachutes in breaking the 
force of the fall back into the water. 

The covering of fishes is admirably adapted to the me- 
dium in which they live. To resist the macerating action 
of the water they are, as it were, tiled over, like the roof 
of a house, with impermeable scales ; and the direction in 
which these lie and overlap is the one which offers the 
least impediment in swimming. Scales present much va- 
riety of form in diflerent fishes. They are pretty objects 
when viewed in the microscope, and are manufactured into 
many kinds of useful ornaments. Popularly they are re- 
garded as a mere external epiderm, but in reality they are 
developed within the substance of the skin, and are them- 
selves covered by the cuticle as well as by a layer to which 
they owe their color. In structure they approach more or 
less to the nature of bone. 

In a few fishes, as in the slender pipe-fish and the burly 
trunk-fish, the scales are neatly joined together like a piece 
of finely tesselated pavement, and have very much the 
character of plates of bone covered with a layer of enamel. 
This kind of scale-armor, though rare in existing fishes, 
was common among the older races, and universal among 
those that swam in the most ancient waters of the globe. 
The nearest approach to an external bony skeleton among 
the fishes of this country is found in the sturgeon. This 
ungainly creature is the scavenger of European rivers, rout- 
ing with its snout among the mud and stones that form 
their bed, and it is probably to guard against the pressure 
and rough blows which such an occupation involves that 
it is provided with this shield. 

To diminish friction during rapid movement, and for 
protection against the macerating action of the water, 



All that move in the Waters, 353 

Nature has taken care that the scales shall be well lubri- 
cated. Birds, as is elsewhere noticed, make their plum- 
age impermeable to water by diffusing an oily matter over 
it by means of their bills ; but as the want of a flexible 
neck in fishes precludes any analogous action, the same 
result is obtained by a beautifully designed modification 
of structure. Thus the lubricating glands, instead of 
being gathered together, as in birds, so as to form what 
may be termed an " oil-bottle " near the tail, are arranged 
in a row along either side of the body, where with their 
investing scales they exhibit the conspicuous " lateral 
line." Through openings in these scales the lubricating 
fluid exudes, and is subsequently applied over the surface 
by the diffusing action of the water during the movements 
of the fish. 

Lying under the spinal column in most fishes there is a 
sac, containing a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen gas, to 
which the term swim-bladder is given by physiologists, 
but which is familiarly known to most persons as "the 
sounds." The weight of the body of a fish, bulk for bulk, 
is so nearly the same as water, that the mere distension 
or collapse of this air-bladder often makes the difference 
between floating and sinking. All fishes are not sup- 
plied with a swim-bladder. As might be anticipated, 
there is none in the plaice, turbot, sole, and many other 
flat fishes habitually living near the bottom of the water. 
But it was not to have been expected that some fishes 
which are usually found near the surface, as the red mul- 
let and the mackerel, are equally destitute of it ; while 
the eel, which generally frequents the muddy bottom of 
rivers, has a well-developed swim-bladder. On the whole, 
therefore, it may be inferred that, although the flotation 
influence of this sac must be considerable, it probably 
serves for other purposes also. 

Fishes possess little power either of touch or taste. The 
scaliness of the skin, indeed, precludes the former j while 
23 



354 Whales^ and 

the latter would be unnecessary, as the food is for the most 
part merely seized and gorged or gulped down into the 
stomach, without previously undergoing any thing that can 
be called mastication. In some fishes, as in the barbel 
and rockling, there are flexible feelers appended to the 
mouth, which must be considered as organs of touch of 
considerable delicacy, fitted to aid them in the selection of 
their food. Fishes also possess, in a slight degree, the 
sense of smell. Hence they are sometimes caught by per- 
sons who have smeared their hands with strongly scented 
matters ; and Mr. Jesse relates that certain fishes which 
he kept in a pond gave the preference to bait that had 
been perfumed. Hearing is a sense of more importance 
to fishes, and, although there is no external opening or ear, 
the essential parts of the organ are found internally. 
There can be no doubt, therefore, that they possess this 
sense, though not acutely. In corroboration it may be 
mentioned that in China tame fish are sometimes called 
together for feeding by means of a whistle ; some have 
been taught to pay attention to the ringing of a bell ; while 
others have been seen to be startled at the sound of a gun. 
In the latter case, however, the effect may have been 
produced by the concussion communicated to the water. 

Vision, on the other hand, is of high importance to 
fishes ; accordingly the nerve of seeing is largely devel- 
oped, and the optical apparatus of the eye is admirably 
adapted to the medium in which they live. Fishes do not 
possess a lachrymal gland, and it is obvious that tears can- 
not be required to moisten the eyes of animals living in 
the water. Where the obscurity is so great as to afford no 
light, eyes are of course useless, and they are reduced by 
thrifty Nature to a merely rudimentary condition. From 
this cause fishes living in the dark lakelets of the " Mam- 
moth Cave " of Kentucky, which has been traced for ten 
miles underground and is known to extend much further, 
are destitute of organs which they cannot turn to account. 



All that move in the Waters, 355 

But, as a compensation for this visual defect, they are en- 
dowed with wonderful acuteness of hearing. 

Fishes are preeminently omnivorous, and they can deal 
with every thing, from a soft jelly-like medusa up to hard 
lobsters and masses of stony corals. A few browse peace- 
fully on tender sea-weed or fresh-water plants, but the ma- 
jority are ravenously carnivorous, and prey upon one 
another. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the 
variety observed in the number, shape, and position of the 
teeth should be greater in fishes than in any other class 
of animals. The sturgeon and a few others have no teeth. 
Some have only three or four ; while in many they are so 
numerous that they cannot be counted. Some teeth are 
so fine that they resemble the pile on velvet, as in the 
perch ; other teeth are like bristles, of cones, or blades 
for cutting, or saws, or grinders. The mouth of a shark 
bristles with the most cruel-looking teeth. Of these some 
are obviously designed for stabbing and cutting, others for 
tearing and sawing. The wolf-fish has powerful front teeth 
for seizing, branching out\vard like grappling-hooks, and, 
as it finds its chief nourishment in lobsters, whelks, and 
other shell-protected creatures, it is likewise supplied with 
some massive blocks of teeth between which the shells 
are crunched into fragments. A harder diet still forms 
the favorite food of the scams, or parrot-fish, of the Pa- 
cific, which, as Owen observes, " literally browses upon 
the corals clothing the bottom of the sea, as with a richly 
tinted-carpet, just as the ruminant quadrupeds crop the 
herbage of the dry land." Its object is, of course, to get at 
the minute polypes ; but as these, when disturbed, shrink 
into their cells, the parrot-fish can only reach them by 
grinding down the coral mass ; for which purpose its 
strong, broad jaws are laid with teeth consolidated to- 
gether like a pavement. 

The voracity of fishes is, of course, no sign of cruelty, 
but only the means appointed by Nature for carrying out 



35 6 Whales, and 

her plans for the general welfare, in which man himself is 
interested more than any other creature. Considering the 
amazing fecundity of fishes, it was essential that some 
check should be set io guard against their undue increase. 
An idea of the rate at which fishes, if unchecked, would 
multiply may be formed from the circumstance that nine 
millions of eggs are estimated to exist in a single cod's 
roe, and two hundred and eighty thousand in that of a 
perch. Six hundred thousand have been computed in the 
roe of a carp weighing nine pounds. The roe of a herring 
contains between three and four thousand ova ; and it was 
a speculation of the sagacious Buffon that a pair of them, 
if left undisturbed for twenty years, would produce a prog- 
eny whose bulk would equal that of the entire globe. 
Sprats are so abundant that many hundred tons of them, 
are annually used as manure. The profusion of life con- 
tained in the roe is intended not only to stock the sea, but 
also to feed its inhabitants. The small fry yield an ^bun- 
dance of food to fishes of larger growth, and these last in 
their turn contribute, more abundantly, perhaps, than any 
other, sub-kingdom of Nature, to the support of mankind. 
If fishes were not voracious, and if they did not prey on 
one another, the vast shoals that people the ocean could 
not be fed. With insufiicient nourishment their numbers 
would necessarily fall off, and the abundant supply now 
granted to man would thus be inevitably curtailed. 

It has been ascertained that in many fishes, among 
which may be mentioned the pike, carp, tench, and eel, a 
regurgitation of food takes place which is analogous to 
rumination in quadrupeds. The matters thus chewed are 
most frequently of an animal nature. Fishes, it is true, 
have no grinders fixed along the jaws ; but, on the other 
hand, various parts about the top of the gullet are often 
densely crowded with teeth, by. which the food is torn, 
comminuted, and otherwise prepared for digestion. Until 
the discovery of rumination in fishes was made, the exist- 



All that move in the Waters, 357 

ence of these teeth toward the back of the throat was an 
enigma to physiologists. 

Every angler has stories to tell of the voracity of fishes. 
They live for the most part by preying on each other. 
That pleasant naturalist, Mr. Jesse, mentions that on one 
occasion he had an opportunity of ascertaining that eight 
pike, weighing five pounds each, consumed nearly eight 
hundred gudgeon in three weeks. We will here allude 
only to one other evidence of voracity which was exhibited 
at a public lecture in Dublin. It consisted of the " skele- 
ton of a frog-fish, two and a half feet in length, in whose 
stomach the skeleton of a cod two feet long was found. 
Within the cod were contained two whitings of the ordi- 
nary size, while in the stomach of each whiting were found 
numerous half-digested fishes which were too small and 
broken down to admit of preservation. 

On the other hand. Nature has set checks to the voracity 
of the tyrants of the deep, and the weaker fishes have not 
been left altogether without the means of escape or de- 
fense. Flat fishes partly owe their safety to the sameness 
of color subsisting between them and the bottom of the 
sea or river on which they usually lie. We know by expe- 
rience how difficult it is to detect them so long as they 
remain motionless and half-buried in the mud. Hence, as 
fishes hunt by sight, they readily escape being seen ; and 
the same inconspicuous color which protects them from 
their enemies, favors the unsuspecting approach of the 
creatures on which they-prey. So important does color 
appear to be, that ground fishes are invariably found to 
have the same general tint as the bottom soil, whatever 
that may be ; and, indeed, it is affirmed that fishes have to 
a certain extent the power of gradually changing their 
color, and assimilating it to that produced by alterations 
from any cause in the color of the bed itself. 

Many fishes, as sticklebacks and perch, have strong 
sharp spines implanted on the ridge of the back, which 



358 Whales, and 

under the excitement of fear or anger are erected like 
bayonets, so as to be equally available for attack or defense. 
The Diodon, or Globe-fish of the Brazil coast, has a very 
singular means of baffling its enemies. This creature, by 
swallowing air, is able to puff itself out like a ball, during 
which operation the sharp spines by which its body is beset 
all over are brought into an erect position. It may be 
easily supposed that a fish thus stuck round with daggers, 
like a sea hedgehog, has no attraction for even the most 
voracious of its enemies. It sometimes happens, however, 
that a shark snaps it up before it has had time to inflate 
itself j but no sooner does it reach the stomach than it 
begins, if the shark's teeth have left any life in it, to blow 
itself up into a very awkward morsel. Not only has the 
Diodon been found in this situation inflated and bristling, 
but it is asserted that it has been known actually to eat its 
way out of prison. 

The saw-fish is so called, because it has the upper jaw 
prolonged into a most formidable bony weapon, from which 
teeth project on either side so as to give it somewhat the 
general appearance of a saw. The sword-fish has the 
jaw lengthened out into a round spear three or four feet 
in length, of great strength, and finely tapered to a point. 
Men have been stabbed to death by this fatal weapon. 
The sword-fish has, it is said, a strong antipathy to the 
whale, and has been known to run full tilt at ships under 
the erroneous idea, as it is thought, that it was charging 
one of its natural enemies. The shock of the blow on 
these occasions is sometimes so great as to lead the crew 
to suppose that their ship has struck upon a rock. It is 
believed that ships have been sunk by the water rushing in 
through the hole thus made ; but more frequently the 
" spear " itself is broken off from the violence of the 
thrust, and the end which is left behind acts as an efficient 
plug. 

Among the various means of attack and defense pes- 



All that move in the Waters, 359 

sessed by fishes, the power which a few possess of dis-» 
charging an electric shock at their enemies is, perhaps, the 
most remarkable. Such animated batteries are observed 
in various fishes, but are chiefly developed in the Silurus 
of the Nile j the Torpedo, a kind of Ray found in the 
seas of Southern Europe ; and in the Gymnotus, or elec- 
tric eel, which is peculiar to some of the rivers of South 
America. These fishes appear to have the power not only 
of exciting electricity in their batteries, but also of par- 
tially regulating the direction in which it is to pass off 
from their bodies. The capture of the Gymnotus, as it is 
carried on in South America, has been graphically de- 
scribed by Humboldt. Acting on the fact that these 
creatures exhaust their electrical power, and become in- 
nocuous after repeated discharges, the natives forcibly 
drive horses into the waters where they abound ; and after 
the horses, to their extreme terror as well as suffering, 
have received all the shocks which can be given at that 
time, the owners quietly step in, and secure the spent eels 
as prizes. 

The instincts and powers with which the Creator has 
endowed fishes for the purpose of meeting certain local or 
climatic difficulties are really wonderful. In Ceylon many 
reservoirs and streams well stocked with fish dry up dur- 
ing the hot season. In circumstances so desperate one 
would think that the fate of the fishes was sealed, but they 
habitually rescue themselves by migrating across fields 
and forests in quest of water. The most extraordinary 
part of the case is that, if there should happen to be a 
pool still remaining in the neighborhood, they seem to 
divine its situation by a kind of instinct, and make for it 
as straight as a crow could fly. Sir J. E. Tennent gives a 
curious vignette in which a troop of fishes are seen en 
route on one of these occasions, and considering they are 
almost as devoid of legs as serpents, without having been 
formed like them for crawling, it is wonderful what dis- 



360 Whales, and 

tances they traverse in their journeys. They have the 
instinct always to set out by night, or in the early dawn, 
so that they may have the advantage of the dew then lying 
heavy on the ground. As a special provision against the 
drought of the climate, some of these fishes are supplied 
with a peculiar structure near the top of the gullet, depend- 
ent on an expansion of the pharyngeal bones, which ena- 
bles them to retain for a time as much wajj^r as is suffi- 
cient to keep the gills moist during their venturesome 
journeys. In our own country eels occasionally travel 
short distances across meadows. Within? the tropics some 
fishes escape death from starvation by burying themselves 
in the mud on the approach of the dry season. The fa- 
mous Lepidosiren of the Gambia forms for itself a cell or 
chamber in the soft mud, which soon becomes baked hard 
over it, and there it remains in a torpid state until the 
return of the floods. Some fishes in Ceylon insert their 
head into the mud, and bore in with the whole body until 
they come to a sufficiently moist layer, in which they bury 
themselves. The sun then bakes the superjacent clay, 
and seals them up as in a bottle, where they remain torpid 
until liberated by the loosening of the mud on the return 
of the rainy season. In India, Siam, Guiana, and else- 
where, there are many migratory and burrowing fishes, 
and such probably exist to a greater or less extent in all 
tropical countries subject to droughts. 

In higher latitudes, on the other hand, fishes sometimes 
bury themselves on the approach of cold weather. Eels 
for the most part descend from the shallow rivulets to 
deeper water, but many occasionally get caught by the 
frost and are sealed up in the mud. It is said that in some 
parts of England the country people are in the habit of 
digging up half-frozen, torpid eels in the winter time. On 
the coast of Coromandel there is a kind of perch which 
not only makes excursions inland in search of food, but 
which actually pursues its prey, a small crustacean, up tall 



All that move in the Waters. 361 

trees, and is provided for the purpose with a climbing ap- 
paratus appended to its fins. 

• There is not much to be said in praise of the parental 
tenderness of fishes. They strive with the persevering 
energy of instinct to ascend rivers, approach shallow 
coasts, or get into other situations favorable for the deposi- 
tion of their spawn ; but with this act their cares seem to 
end, and the eggs are left to take their chance. To this 
rule, however, there are a few exceptions. A shrewd nat- 
uralist of ancient times, Aristotle, affirmed that in the 
Mediterranean there was a fish which built a sort of nest 
or house, in which it laid its spawn ; and modern obser- 
vation has not only confirmed this statement, but has 
shown that while the Phycis is attending to her maternal 
duties in the nest, her companion mounts guard outside 
and protects her against intrusion. 

In the muddy streamlets of Guiana a fish is found 
abundantly which the inhabitants highly prize as food. It 
is locally called Hassar, but it has received from natural- 
ists the name of Callichthys — beautiful fish — as a trib- 
ute to its scaly splendor. It builds a kind of nest with 
the more delicate shreds of plants growing in the water ; 
and the fishermen, knowing the assiduity with which the 
parents hover near their spawn, are accustomed to slip a 
net under the place where the nest is situated, and then by 
suddenly raising it up out of the water rarely fail to secure 
them. 

One of the most genuine instances of parental and, 
perhaps we may add, conjugal afiection observed in fishes, 
is to be found in the bright little stickleback with which 
the bo3dsh recollections of many of us are associated. 
Neither is it surpassed, perhaps not equaled, by any other 
fish in the skill with which it constructs its habitation. 
Out of stray bits of grass or straws blown into the river, 
or the most delicate of the neighboring plants, a nest is 
built, in shape not unlike a diminutive barrel, with an 



362 Concluding Reflections, 

opening at each end to facilitate easy ingress and egress ; 
and round this castle the brave little stickleback mounts 
faithful guard, and tolerates no intruders. Where these* 
fishes are numerous such castles abound, although from 
their color, closely resembling that of the other plantal 
surfaces around, it is not easy to distinguish them. There 
is something almost ludicrous in the bravery of this minute 
champion — this preux chevalier — among fishes. The 
Rev. J. G. Wood tells us that " his boldness is astonishing, 
for he will dash at a fish ten times' his size, and, by dint 
of his fierce onset, and his bristly spears, drive the enemy 
away. Even if a stick be placed within the sacred circle, 
he will dart at it, repeating the assault as often as the stick 
may trespass upon his domains." 

I will think of all Thy works; and my talking shall be of Thy doings. — 

Ps. Ixxvii. 



Such are a few illustrations of the Power, Wisdom, and 
Goodness of God, which a cursory glance at Nature brings 
most readily to our thoughts ; but the field is boundless, 
and, did space permit, might be profitably surveyed from 
other parts. Below the higher ranks of the Animal King- 
dom more especially noticed in this book, countless tribes 
exist, the contemplation of whose habits and structure is 
not less interesting to us, or less glorifying to the Creator. 
It has often occurred to me that, amid the various branches 
of education which compete for the time of youth, Natural 
History is still too much neglected. What solid, eridur- 
ing advantages would result were it an established study, 
instead of being a mere accident, of school-life ! Would 
it not also be better in every point of view, if more atten- 
tion were directed toward it in institutions designed for 



Concluding Reflections, 363 

the improvement of the working-classes, even though it 
trenched a Httle on the time frequently devoted to politics 
or critical discussion ? A profound acquaintance with 
Natural History, it is obvious, can only be attained by few ; 
but every body in these days, at the cost of a little reading 
of the most agreeable kind, may prepare himself with knowl- 
edge amply sufficient to crowd his walks with pleasure. 

And not with pleasure only ! While leading its followers 
among the " green things upon the earth," the pursuit of 
Natural History strengthens both mind and body, and 
awakens trains of thought that are well calculated to serve 
as a shield against the temptation of grosser pleasures. 
Not many persons, perhaps, habitually realize the extent 
to which devotional feelings may be roused by the contem- 
plation of surrounding objects. Yet we cannot doubt that 
these objects are placed there for that very purpose ; and 
when we reflect how much they are interwoven with our 
happiness, and the relief of our wants, do they not naturally 
excite us to greater love, and suggest to us greater thank- 
fulness ? Thus were they wisely used by the Three Children 
in their hymn. Nature is a book written by the finger 
of God Himself, and of which every page is filled to over- 
flowing with illustrations of His wisdom ; it is a picture in 
which His Goodness is painted in colors of perfect truth ; 
it is a sculpturing in which His Power is expressed in 
marvels of form and harmony. Who does not long to be 
able to read this book, to view with appreciation this 
picture, to study with intelligence the wonders of this 
sculpturing ? Next to the knowledge which saves, what 
more precious knowledge can there be than this ? 

It is never too early to instill tenderness toward all 
creatures into the young heart, and it almost seems as if 
the attractive lessons of Natural History courted our notice 
in order that they might be used for the purpose. Such 
teaching should not depend exclusively upon appeals to 
feeling, for though a good guide in the main, it sometimes 



364 Concluding Reflections, 

leads astray, and prompts to destroy as well as to save. 
Feeling, therefore, stands itself in need of correction, and 
has to learn its own lesson. With feeling must be asso- 
ciated some of that knowledge which causes interest to 
spring up in the young mind ; but, above all, it must be 
imbued with the principle of respect for the life which God 
has created. It is our lofty privilege to be intrusted with 
dominion over every living thing ; but, as stewards of His 
providence, we are bound to carry out His rule of govern- 
ment, and carefully to distinguish between checking life 
that is injurious, and wantonly destroying life that does no 
harm. All animals live by the same title as ourselves — 
the Will of the Creator ; and, when unoffending, they have 
the same right to existence. Let the child, therefore, be 
taught to regard life as sacred for the Creator's sake. God 
made it. Cruelty in the young is for the most part only a 
repulsive form of thoughtlessness, and a really cruel child 
is a rare phenomenon. It is an outrage upon that inno- 
cence of heart in which we delight to think Nature has 
enshrined the opening days of life. It is a sight that per- 
plexes almost as much as it distresses us. The remem- 
brance of it haunts us like an evil dream, and casts a 
gloom over the rest of the day. 

On the other hand, how pleasing it is to see childhood 
on good terms with all God's creatures — to watch the 
little one in whose gentle vocabulary words of disgust and 
hatred find no place • — whose face brightens with sympathy 
toward all living things — whose eyes sparkle with laughter 
at the merry ways of dumb dependents, and fill with tears 
when they die. How pleasing to see the little hand that 
plunges fearlessly among the favorites of the vivarium, to 
grasp with tenderest care some fragile life and hold it up 
for our admiration. How pleasing to see the child which 
neither strikes down butterfly after butterfly with thought- 
less caprice for the sake of gazing for an instant at their 
beauty, nor stamj)s its tiny foot with fury on a beetle or a 



Concluding Reflections, 365 

worm on account of its fancied ugliness. The heart soft- 
ened betimes will never afterward be sullied by cruelty. 
On the contrary, the germs of kindliness thus early plant- 
ed will surely grow and ripen, until they cover with their 
protection every inoffensive living thing that God has 
created. 

At the beginning of this commentary it was mentioned 
that a few verses of the hymn would be omitted, not from 
their being unsuited to arouse devotional feelings, but be- 
cause they were scarcely adapted to the kind of illustra- 
tion which has here been followed. I cannot, however, 
pass from the subject without at least some allusion to 
them. One verse carries our thoughts back to the marvel- 
ous things that were done in olden time for the sake of 
the people whom God had chosen ; another calls to our 
remembrance the fiery furnace at Babylon, and the ordeal 
through which the Three Children passed in safety, be- 
cause they were upheld by the power of the Lord. In 
one verse, they who are specially set apart for the sacred 
service, and are placed among us as the ministers and 
stewards of its mysteries, are called on to join in the work 
of praise ; in another, we are reminded of that higher and 
purer worship which angels and the spirits of just men 
made perfect are privileged to offer to the Throne. In the 
appeal to the holy and humble men of heart, we recognize 
the fitness with which holiness and humility are ever asso- 
ciated together as the best preparation for approaching the 
footstool of Infinite Power. Lastly, in the invocation ad- 
dressed to the servants of the Lord, and to all the children 
of men we feel the h3niin brought home more especially to 
ourselves, and we join heartily in the chant raised through- 
out the universe in honor of the Great Creator. 

It has been my aim to point out that the beauty in which 
" all the works of the Lord " are enshrined is not a mere 
garnish on which we are only to expend criticism or praise, 
but a substantial blessing expressly created for our enjoy- 



366 Concluding Reflections, 

ment, and for which we ought to be thankful. With what 
gratitude ought we not to mark that all Nature is molded, 
grouped, and combined in endless varieties of loveliness, 
so as most fully to gratify that longing after beauty with 
which we alone among earthly beings have been endowed ! 
Can it be right habitually to treat this privilege with 
neglect, or 'to pass coldly on without appreciation or ac- 
knowledgment ? This sense of beauty is to be viewed as 
the overflow of the riches of our Father's love. After all 
our wants have been satisfied, — after we have been fed 
and clothed, housed and warmed, — this good gift has 
been added over and above, as an ever-blooming flower 
laid upon our path through life, to be enjoyed and acknowl- 
edged with adoring thankfulness. 

It has likewise been my aim to combat that apathy 
which freezes the springs of gratitude, and, which being 
satisfied with general acknowledgments, makes no effort 
to understand the details of providential design that knit 
us so lovingly to our Father. Truly there is nothing more 
chilling to adoration than that indifference which hardly 
seems to be conscious of the atmosphere of blessings in 
the midst of which our lives are passed, and which accepts 
these blessings as if they were the results of aimless acci- 
dent, rather than guided specially toward our individual 
selves by the hand of God. How much more happiness- 
bringing is it to cherish that sensitiveness of disposition 
which is ever on the alert to discover new evidences of 
heavenly love ! Every fresh illustration, as it flashes upon 
the mind, will then surely touch a chord within which will 
send up adoration from the heart. To " praise the Lord 
with understanding " is the height to which the Psalmist 
exhorts us to aspire, but it can only be reached through 
knowledge and reflection. To the mind thus prepared the 
words of the Benedicite are replete with meaning, arid 
never fail to call forth the honoring worship they are in- 
tended to awaken. Where shall we find a hymn in which 



Concluding Reflections. 367 

the Creator is more loftily portrayed as the Father who 
blesses us — as the All-wise Architect whose work is 
worthy to be praised — and as the mighty Ruler of the 
universe, to be magnified for ever ! 

May I venture on a word of appe'al to those who fancy 
they see a snare in the exaltation of the material works of 
God, and suppose that the adoration which springs from 
the contemplation of them detracts in some way from that 
other adoration which is the fruit of Christian faith : — as 
if the worship resulting from the contemplation of God 
the Father and Creator were antagonistic to that arising 
from the contemplation of the work of God the Son and 
Redeemer. It is difficult to imagine a greater error. Our 
Father lays no such snares against the good of his chil- 
dren ; if there be a doubter let him look round and watch 
His ways. Natural Theology and Christian Theology can 
never be really opposed or antagonistic ; on the contrary, 
they only serve to strengthen and confirm each other. Let 
each occupy in our thoughts its proper place, and then 
neither of them can be too much cherished. 

In whatever direction we survey the universe, we see 
that nothing is isolated, and no one thing exists without 
being adjusted to other things. All is in the most perfect 
harmony. Nothing that could be added, or that could be 
withdrawn, would make creation more perfect than it is. 
In tracing the tender care lavished upon every living thing, 
the conviction sinks deeply into -our hearts that inexhaust- 
ible benevolence constitutes the design of God to all^ It 
is written everywhere, and on every thing. Trustingly, 
contentedly, hopefully, therefore, we look upward to our 
Father.* The comfort of such thoughts is unspeakable. 
Our Father makes every thing, plans every thing, cares for, 
feeds, clothes, and protects every thing \ and if the all-wise 
laws which govern the world do sometimes bring a passing 
sorrow upon its inhabitants, how little does this appear 
when compared with the blessings which at every instant 



368 Concluding Reflections, 

are showered upon them. May it not even be said, that 
the physical evils attendant upon fallen nature are often so 
tempered through our Father's mercy that they seem to 
change their very nature, and to be converted into bless- 
ings ? 

There is something which irresistibly draws us on to 
contemplate the attributes of the Deity, even although con- 
scious that we can never fully comprehend them. His 
Omnipotence fascinates our thoughts. Though ever baf- 
fled, we return to it again and again ; — hopeless to 
fathom, yet eager to see more. At other times we try to 
grasp more largely the idea of His Omnipresence. Again 
our efforts falter and break down. But, though we cannot 
elevate our understanding to the level of such ideas, there 
is nothing in the material world which lifts us higher or 
brings us nearer to success than the marvels of Natural 
Theology. Through it we see His presence, power, and 
government proclaimed by every star that glimmers in the 
depths of space, and we feel that we have thus won for 
ourselves a loftier and clearer view of Him than we had 
before. Or if we turn to the opposite end of the material 
world, we trace the same mighty finger shaping with ex- 
quisite skill the microscopic particles of matter, and the 
perception that every atom in creation is in contact with 
Omnipresence becomes more real and practical than it was 
before. Well might the Psalmist ask, — Whither shall I go 
from Thy presence .'' It is as distinct and palpable at the 
pole^of minuteness as it is at the pole of immensity. 

A great Prophet — a man after God's own heart, and 
who spoke with the authority of inspiration — has left in 
The Book of Psalms a standard by which in all coming 
time we may learn how the Lord is to be praised. As the 
direct work of the Holy Spirit, it has inherently a weight 
to which nothing merely human can lay claim, and it is in- 
structive to mark the general agreement that subsists be- 
tween the last three Psalms of David and the Song of the 



Concluding Reflections. 369 

Three Children. There is in both the same flood-like 
pouring forth of praise, and the same earnest striving that 
every thing in every possible way should serve to swell the 
voice of universal adoration. The Lord is to be praised 
" in the sanctuary " and " in the firmament of His power," 
or throughout the realms of infinite space. He is to be 
praised with trumpets, psaltery, and harp ; with timbrel 
and dance ; with stringed instruments and organs, and 
high-sounding cymbals. How emphatically music is here 
indicated as an aid in the outward expression of devotional 
feeling, and hdw^ vain it is to affect to contemn as sensuous 
a means which thus comes to us not onlv sanctioned, but 
enjoined, by the inspired Psalmist. Ages change, and we 
are changed in them, but the principle that was originally 
good never yet became evil merely through the lapse of 
time or the force of accidental association. Music is, after 
all, only one of the ways by which emotion seeks to give 
itself utterance, and when it falls on sympathizing ears it 
sometimes succeeds in helping to rouse or soften where 
words alone might fail. Listen to the strains in which the 
Psalmist of Israel calls upon the whole universe of being 
— intelligent and unintelligent — to join in one glorious 
hymn of praise in honor of their Lord and Creator : — 

Praise ye the Lord from the heavens : praise Him in 
the heights. 

Praise ye Him, all His angels : praise ye Him, all His 
hosts. 

Praise ye Him, sun and moon : praise Him, all ye stars 
of light. 

Praise Him, ye heaven of heavens, and ye waters that 
be above the heavens. 

Let them praise the name of the Lord : for He com- 
manded, and they were created. 

He hath also stablished them for ever and ever : He 
hath made a decree which shall not pass. 
24 



3 70 Conclusion, 

Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all 

deeps : 

Fire and hail ; snow and vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling 

His word : 

Mountains and all hills ; fruitful trees and all cedars \ 
Beasts and all cattle ; creeping things and flying fowl : 
Kings of the earth, and all people ; princes, and all 

judges of the earth : 
Both young men and maidens j old men and children : 
Let them praise the name of the Lord : for His name 

alone is excellent; His glory is above the earth and 

heaven. 

Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. — Ps. cl. 




INDEX. 



A. 

Air-cells of birds, 307. 

All that swim in the waters, 351. 

Aluminium and Alumina, 236. 

Animalcules, miscroscopic, 211 ; 
their use, 214. 

Animals, their structure perfect in 
relation to their habits and func- 
tions, 216. 

Ant-eater of South America, 297. 

Aral, Sea of, balance maintained 
between evaporation and sup- 
ply, 154. 

Ararat, Mount, 221. 

Asteroids, 34. 

Astronomy, the Father of sciences, 
24. 

Atmosphere, distributes light, 91 ; 
reflects light, 93 ; purified by 
plants acted on by light, 92 ; 
causes of deterioration, 91 ; ab- 
sorbs moisture, loi ; capacity 
for vapor varies according to 
temperature, loi ; necessity for 
atmospheric moisture, 103 ; at- 
mosphere described, 158. 

Aye-aye, the, 298. 

B. 

Benedicite, the, 12 ; its mean- 
ing sometimes misunderstood, 



14 ; its fitness as an aid to 
adoration, 15. 

Beasts and Cattle, 286; the 
horse, 287 ; camel, 287 ; llama, 
289 ; elephant, 289 ; reindeer, 
289; dog, 291; sheep, 292; 
kangaroo, 292 ; buffalo, bison, 
mammoth, 293 ; animal scav- 
engers, 296 ; ant-eater, 298. 

Babylon, present and past, 7. 

Baltic, the, supplied with salt 
from the North Sea, 150. 

Barometer, 160. 

Beak of birds, 310. 

Birds, the song of, 300 ; plumage, 
302 ; wings, 303 ; buoyancy in 
flight how secured, 307 ; tem- 
perature of blood, 308 ; air- 
cells, 307 ; diving, 309 ; beak, 
310; vision, 312; digestion, 
312; habits, 318; affection of, 
320. 

Blubber of whale, 343. 

Bones of birds, 307. 

Buffalo and bison, 293. 



Cattle ; see Beasts and Cattle. 

Cold, 182 ; see Frost and Cold. 

Camel, the, 287. 

Carbonic acid gas in the atmos- 
phere, 91 ; removed by plants, 
92. 



372 Index, 

Caspian Sea, balance maintained 238 ; church-building, 241 ; and 

between evaporation and sup- decoration, 243. 

ply, 154. Earthquakes dependent on sub- 
Centrifugal force, 29. terranean fire, 204. 
Chalk, 228. Earthshine, 48. 
Chemical force, a " Power of the Easter, time of, determined by the 

Lord," 205. moon, 50. 

Christmas, 83. Egg, the, of birds, 334. 

Church-building and decoration. Eider-down, 306. 

241. Electricity and lightning, 106 ; 

Circulation, capillary, of the ocean, in fishes, 359. 

148; in whales and fishes, 341. Elephant, the Siberian, 293. 

Clay, 236. Elevation and subsidence of land, 

Climate, 76; advantages of di- 203. 

versity of, 80 ; Great Britain, Eye, the, 88. 

82, 118. 

Clouds ; see Waters above the t? 

_. r. 
Firmament. 

Coal, 174. Fire and Heat, 171 ; fuel, 172; 

Colors, from coal-tar, 207. coal, 174; petroleum, 178. 

Cotton, 254. Floods, 134 ; see Seas and 

Craigleith quarry, 239. Floods. 

Cuckoo, the, 323. Fowls of the Air, 300 ; see 

Currents of the ocean, 141. Birds. 

Frost and Cold, 182 ; snow 

J) and ice, 183 ; snow-huts, 186 ; 

cold temperatures, 187 ; freez- 

Darkness, 88; see Light and ingof water, 188 ; glaciers, 191 ; 

Darkness. icebergs, 195. 

Days, 85 ; see Nights and Days. Feathers, 303. 

Deserts, from absence of rain. Ferocity in animals bestowed in 

117. mercy, 294. 

Dew, 118; cause of, 119; in the Fishes, 351 ; scales of, 352; or- 

East, 119. gans of sense, 353 ; teeth, 355 ; 

Diving, of birds, 309 ; of whales, fecundity, 356 ; rumination, 356 ; 

345. electrical, 359; torpidity, 360; 

Dog, the, 291. nest-building, 361. 

Flax-plant, 254. 

■p Flight of birds, 303. 

Forests of ancient Britain, 172, 

Earth, the, 230 ; glass, 232 ; pot- 272. 

tery, 234 ; metals, 237 ; rocks, Friction, 199. 



Index, 



Z17> 



Fruit, temperature of, 282. 
Furnace, the burning fiery, 10. 

G. 

Green Things upon the Earth, 
25 1 ; adjustments to climate 
and physical conditions, 251 ; 
flax and cotton, 254 ; out of 
labor comes a blessing, 257; 
variety of useful products from 
same plant, 258 ; tropical veg- 
etation, 258 ; polar, 261 ; seed, 
263 ; " green things " in to\vn, 
267 ; trees, 269 ; the sap, 273 ; 
leaves, 275 ; wood, 280 ; me- 
dicinal plants, 283 ; leaves form 
mold, 284. 

Gibraltar, currents at Straits o:^ 
150. 

Gizzard, the, in birds, 312. 

Glaciers, their color, 183 ; de- 
scribed, 191 ; ancient glaciers in 
Britain, 195 ; Great Greenland 
glacier, 196 ; supply rivers in 
summer, 225. 

Glass, 233. 

Golden image, the, 10. 

Gravity, solar and terrestrial, 198. 

Gulf Stream, 139. 

Gullet of whale, 346. 

Gymnotus electricus, 359. 

H. 

Heavens, the, 20 ; Astronomy 
one of the most exact of sci- 
ences, 21; see sun, moon, stars, 
etc. 

Heat, 171 ; see Fire and Heat. 

Heat, internal, of earth, 201. 

Herdsmen, in the Bible, 299. 

Hibernation of fishes, 360. 



I. 

Introduction, 7. 

Ice, 182 ; see Frost and Cold. 

Icebergs, 195. 

Inland climates, 77. 

Iron, manufacture of, 173. 



Jupiter, 34. 



J. 



K. 



Kangaroo, the, 292. 
Khamsin, the, 169. 
Killers, in Australian seas, enemy 
of the whale, 349. 

L. 

Light and Darkness, 88; the 
eye, 88 ; light, distributed by 
atmosphere, 91 ; action on 
plants, 92 ; importance to 
health, 96 ; the organized world 
dependent on it, 98. 

Lightning and Clouds, 106 ; 
artificial conductors, 108 ; nat- 
ural, 109. 

Lakes, ancient, dried up, 155 ; use 
of, near river sources, 155. 

Leaves the lungs of plants, 275 ; 
purify atmosphere, 92, 275 ; ab- 
sorb moisture, 277 ; conversion 
into mold, 284. 

Life, principle of, 210 ; abundance 
in the sea, 137. 

Limestone rocks, caves and rivers 
in, 127. 

M. 

Moon, 43 ; appearance of, 45 ; has 



374 



Index, 



no atmosphere or water, 47 ; 
uses of, 49. 

Mountains and Hills, 220 ; 
Bible hills, 221; height, 222; 
influence on vegetation, 224; 
sanatoria, 227 ; often the evi- 
dence of ancient convulsions, 
227 ; and former abundance of 
life, 228. 

Marbles, 243. 

Maritime climates, 77. 

Mars, 33. 

Mediterranean, color of, 139 ; de- 
pendent on ocean currents, 149. 

Mercury, 32. 

Metals, 237. 

Migration of birds, 329. 

Moisture in the atmosphere, loi. 

Monsoons, 167. 

Mountains in the sun, 31 ; in the 
moon, 46. 

Mouth of whale, 346 ; of fishes, 
355- 

N. 

Nights and Days, 85 ; depend- 
ent on rotation of the earth, 
85 ; polar night, 96. 

Natural History, 362. 

Nautical Almanac, 21. 

Navigation, accuracy of modern, 
152. 

Nebuchadnezzar, 9. 

Nebulae, 63. 

Neptune, discovery of the planet, 
22. 

Nests of birds, 327; of fishes, 
361. 

Nightingale, the, 329. 

Northwest passage, discovered by 
a whale, 347. 

Nutrition, the succession of^ 98. 



o. 

Ocean, bed of, described, 136 ; 
currents, 141 ; distributes heat, 

145- 
Oil of whale, 350 ; other oils, 350 ; 
in birds, 314. 

P. 

Powers of the Lord, 198 ; 
gravitation, 198 ; friction, 199 ; 
chemical power, 205 ; vital 
power, 210; the evils they 
sometimes bring are small in 
comparison to the blessings, 
217. 

Painting, in churches, 246. 

Pelican, the, 319. 

Planets, are they inhabited ? 38. 

Plants, medicinal, 283 ; see 
"Green Things." 

Plumage, 302. 

Polar vegetation, 261. 

Pottery, 234. 

Q- 

Quails, the Israelites fed with, 
316. 

R. 

Rain, former and latter, iii ; its 
uses, 112 ; carried from tropical 
to higher latitudes, 1 13 ; rainy 
seasons in tropics, 115 ; associ- 
ated with fertility, 116. 

Raven, the, 328. 

Red Sea, dependent for water on 
Indian Ocean, 150. 

Reflection of light, 90. 

Refraction of light, 93. 

Reindeer, 289. 



Index, 



375 



Representative plants in different 
climates, 80. 

Reservoir of water, the crust of 
the earth is a, 126 ; reservoirs 
of blood in the whale, 341. 

Rocks, 238. 

Rumination in fishes, 356. 

S. 

Seas and Floods, 134 ; bed of 
the sea, 136 ; color, 139 ; phos- 
phorescence and saltness, 140 ; 
profusion of life in, 137 ; deso- 
late regions, 138 ; currents, 142 ; 
distribute heat, 145. 

Showers and Dew, hi ; see 
Rain and Dew. 

Snow, 182 ; see Frost and Cold. 

Stars, the, 51 ; number, 52, 67 ; 
, arrangement, 52 ; binary and 
multiple, 53 ; parallax, 55 ; 
gauging the heavens, 61 ; can- 
not be magnified, 65 ; size, 65 ; 
velocity, 66 ; Milky Way, 67 ; 
Nebulae, 67 ; nature of, 69. 

Sun, the, 27 ; attraction of, 28 ; 
distance, 30 ; diameter and 
bulk, 30 ; temperature, 31 ; 
atmosphere, 32 ; light of, 32 ; 
movement and position in space, 
68 ; in polar regions, 96. 

Sap, circulation of, 273. 

Saturn, 35. 

Scales of fishes, 352. 

Scavengers, animal, 214, 296. 

Sculpture, in churches, 244. 

Sea-reed, its use, 278. 

Seasons, 72 ; tropical, 78 ; see 
Winter and Summer. 

Seed, the, 263, 266. 

Sheep, the, 292. 

Skylark, the, 301. 



Solar space, excursion through, 
32 ; the frontiers of, 35, 67. 

Spiracle of whale, 343. 

Springs, 122 ; see Wells. 

Stickleback, the, 361. 

Stork, the, 319. 

Swimming of fishes, 351 ; swim- 
bladder, 353. 

Symbolism, 249. 

T. 

Teeth of fishes, 355. 
Temperature of earth in different 

latitudes, 76. 
Text scrolls, in churches, 247. 
Tides, 150 ; their height, 151. 
Torpidity of fishes, 360. 
Trade-winds, 163. 
Trees, 269 ; size, 270 
Tropical vegetation, 

258. 
Twilight, 94. 



age, 270. 
described, 



Uranus, 35. 



u. 



V. 



Vapor in the atmosphere, loi ; 
gathered in tropical seas to 
be carried to higher latitudes, 
where it supplies heat and rain, 

113- 

Vegetable principles, conversion 

of, 208. 

Venus, 33. 

Volcanic action, 201. 

Voracity of fishes, 357. 

Vulture, the ; its use, 325 ; sagac- 
ity, 327. 



376 



Index, 



W. 

Waters above the Firmament, 
loo ; clouds, their use, loo ; 
formation, loi. 

Wells, 122 ; their importance in 
the East, 122 ; early appearance 
of, in coral islands, 124 ; in 
England, 127 ; Artesian, 128 ; 
spouting, 129; mineral, 131. 

Whales, 338 ; the whale not a 
fish, 338, 341 ; size, 339 ; cir- 
culation of, 342 ; spiracle, 343 ; 
blubber, 343 ; power of the 
tail, 345 ; narrow gullet, 346 ; 
the mouth and the whalebone, 

346 ; a whale's feast, 346 ; dis- 
covery of Northwest passage, 

347 J former distribution, 348 ; 
its enemies, 348 \ tenderness to 
its young, 349 ; oil, 350. 



Winds, 158 ; circulation, 158 ; 

upper and lower currents, 162 ; 

land and sea breeze, 163 ; 

Trades, 164 ; Monsoons, 167 ; 

use of winds, 169. 
Winter and Summer, cause 

of, 72 ; correspond to dry and 

wet seasons within tropics, 

78 ; summer in polar regions, 

79- 
Wasps, destruction of, in autumn, 

295- 

Water, action of " cold " on, 188 ; 
its circulation, essential to or- 
ganized existence, 157. 

Wings of birds, 303. 

Wood, various properties of, 269 ; 
concentric rings in, 281 ; sap- 
wood and heart-wood, 282. 



THE END. 




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